We Belong To the Sea
by SleepingDarkness
Summary: It wasn't blood that ran through her veins, but saltwater. The sea was her life and her life was the sea. [DISCONTINUED]
1. The Walls of St James' Palace

**_Author's Note: _****I've loved the _Pirates of the Caribbean _series since the beginning, but seeing _On Stranger Tides _rekindled my passion for the films so strongly that a fanfic was born. I hope this one will be better, or at the very least longer than my other stories - I've always greatly admired fanfiction authors who are able to write stories that are sixty or seventy chapters long (though mine will definitely not get that far).**

**EDIT: Oops. As it turns out, King George II lived in St James' Palace, not Buckingham Palace. My historical inaccuracy has been rectified.**

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><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: The Walls of St James' Palace Almost Beat Our Heroine

One knows their life has taken a turn for the worse when they find themselves scaling the walls of St James' Palace, in very real danger of falling from the edifice into a busy, bustling London street.

London is by definition is a busy and bustling sort of place, as would be expected of a capital city. Everyday thousands pour through its winding streets, coming and going, buying and selling, toiling to earn ends meet or indulging in the finer things the City can offer. The constant flow of the populace is like the river Thames (or any river for that matter) – ambling in some places, rapid in others but never still. No force can stop the current. Rivers are the lifeblood of all the great cities, but even so, when it comes to rivers (or any body of water), one tends to do their best to steer clear of them. That is, not fall in.

This principle applies to our heroine, hanging in the air and trying her utmost not to plummet into the stream below that is an appendage of our metaphorical river. Falling into the swirling, stinking mass of people, stalls and carriages was something she would really rather avoid; partially because it would most likely be lethal but mostly because she would feel humiliated and like she had wasted her time.

She blocked all thoughts of falling from her mind and focused on the (rather difficult) task at hand. She never looked down; the only indication that a hectic London street lay below her was the babbling of the crowds as they spoke, yelled, whispered and laughed and the more sinister rumble of carts and carriages, reminding her that falling into the road rather than onto the pavement would be a far more sticky end.

To the wall's credit, it was a very nice wall, for looking at and for climbing. Only the finest walls (or the finest anything) will do in a palace. This wall in particular was adorned with intricate masonry and quite a lot of convenient ledges. But no matter how large or solid the foothold, everything she gripped onto felt tiny and liable to break at a moments notice. As well as seeming too delicate for decent climbing, it now seemed to our heroine to stretch far higher than any wall rightly should. Looking up, she had estimated that the wall was only a few dozen feet high and climbing to the top window would take no significant time or effort. She had considered a lower window, but the lower levels looked more heavily guarded than those located higher up. Besides, she supposed adding another dozen feet to her climb wouldn't make much difference. Looking back, she cursed herself for a fool. Her arms were aching and her legs were lead. The already rough skin on her hands was being scraped and torn open. It felt like there had never been a time when she had not been climbing the accursed wall.

Another thing she realized changed complete when putting her plan in practice was the weather. Had she been asked to comment on the weather from the ground she would have said it was an ordinary, dull midsummer's day, with hardly any sun and a raspy breeze that was little more than a gust of wind. Now she was actually climbing the building, she was put in mind of all the storms she had ever sailed through. The sun beamed directly into her eyes and the wind blew her hair into her face while also threatening to rip her from the wall. Her vision in her right eye was severely impaired at the best of times, so the fact that the weather was now blinding her did not help.

Blinking dizzily, she reached up to grasp the next ledge. After hauling herself up a little further, she realized she had reached the window she had spent so much energy on trying to reach. She perched as well as she was able to on the windowsill and pushed the windows open, nearly bashing a guard who had been standing with his back to her, unaware that the palace was on the verge of being broken into. He spun to face the now open window and gawped as she slid her legs over the sill and stepped into St James' Palace. She turned to close the windows behind her (it seemed the decent and polite thing to do) and when she faced the guard he seemed to have recovered himself. At least she assumed he had, the way he was scowling and aiming his bayonet at her throat.

"Halt!" he cried.

"I cannot halt; I am not moving. Your order is therefore redundant, for I am already halted." she replied.

"How did you get in?"

"My dear fellow, you just watched me climb through the window, you know how I got in. Before you arrest or shoot me, I must ask a question."

"You don't have any right to barge in and-"

"I have been politely asking at the gates after a Captain Hector Barbossa for days, and every inquiry I make is ignored. I don't care why such a simple question as 'Is Hector Barbossa a privateer, and is he currently in the palace?' is never answered (though I suppose that is technically two questions), but my need to have my question resolved has brought me straight to the source."

"That wasn't a question."

"It was."

"It wasn't."

"I posed my question quite clearly, you just weren't listening."

"I'm going to fetch reinforcements."

"Oh, please do. I'd like your colleagues to see the consequences of rebuffing me. I could make an attempt on the King's life and it would be on their heads. But please, my question first?"

"You're back on the question?"

"I just scaled a building and broke into the palace of a King to have my question answered, but on reflection, it's really not that important so I think I'll just – yes, of course I am back on the question."

"Which question?"

"I think the question at the moment is are you suffering from a head injury? Or are you always a bit on the slow side?"

"Is that the question? Well, questions."

"Oh dear, I've confused you. I should have stuck to the subject at hand."

"Please miss, could you just ask your question? You're making my head hurt."

"Is Hector Barbossa a privateer, and is he currently in the palace?"

"Oh, you're right; you did ask those questions before. The rest of what you said just knocked me off track."

"I'm glad you see that now."

"The answer is yes for both questions. You're under arrest."

"Oh good."

"Put out your wrists."

"Sir, if you arrest me, you'll effectively be admitting that you are not good at your job. The title 'guard' gives the impression of guarding."

"Uh, I suppose…"

"I have breached St James' Palace. You have failed in guarding it. I doubt your superiors will be pleased."

"I, um…"

"No one need ever know I was here and your reputation and livelihood will be safe. But in order for that to happen, you must do something for me."

"What?"

"Take me to Hector Barbossa."

"I'm not sure. For all I know, you might make an attempt on _his _life."

"I could have made an attempt on you life during this conversation, but I haven't."

"You could?"

"Have you not spotted the gun and sword in my belt?"

"…Oh."

"You're a cautious man. I shouldn't have made such a request outright. Here's my suggestion. Go to Captain Barbossa and tell him that Lucrezia would like to speak to him."

"Lucrezia…?"

"Just Lucrezia. He can either choose to see me or he can send me away. And if he does see me, you'll be there, guarding me, so I won't get the chance to shoot or stab him. Now go."

The guard obediently trotted off down the corridor; too confused to do anything but what the scarred lady pirate had told him to. The pirate in question didn't waste any time admiring the lavish décor, the fine paintings, the tapestries, the shimmering marble floor, or the gold and precious stones that were pasted onto nearly every inanimate object. Instead she glowered out at that damned wall below the window, boggling over how it suddenly seemed so low and easy to climb again now that she was at the top.

"Captain Barbossa says he would like to talk to you." The guard said timidly to the woman. Lucrezia smiled and turned away from the window.

"Spiffing."

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><p>"Ye may leave us now."<p>

The guard looked indignant and alarmed at Barbossa's command.

"But she said I'd be here to guard-"

"Are ye suggesting that whatever 'she said' takes precedent over what I say?"

"No sir."

"Out."

"Yes sir."

The door clicked shut, but Lucrezia didn't even notice the guard depart. She was too busy staring at what was supposedly an old friend of hers.

"Oh Hector, what have you done?"

It was really very hard to say which the worst part was. His already decrepit visage was plastered with white makeup and rouge on the apples of his cheeks. The wrinkled, weathered skin combined with the stark whiteness of the powder made him look corpselike. His usual garb had been replaced by the blue coat of a navy officer and a horrifically hideous bicorn hat sat atop an equally atrocious powdered wig. Waves of ridiculously curly hair spilled over his shoulders and back, making a dreadful ensemble into a sight that burned her eyes. She silently vowed that she would never mock his oversized, flamboyant, feathered hat, as long as it returned and replaced this imposter.

Seeing him decked out as a navy officer was one thing, but the missing limb and its feeble wooden substitute were another matter entirely. She fought to keep a pained, pitiful expression from crossing her face. Through all that he had been through, no matter how violent or dangerous, he had always been too crafty, too vicious to allow such grievous bodily harm to befall him. He wasn't without scars, but to lose an entire leg…

Seeing a man she had always admired as being the very definition of a great pirate in an officer's uniform and sporting a peg leg made her sick to her stomach. This was proof that piracy was dead.

"Ye looking well, Lucrezia. In answer to yer question, certain circumstances beyond me control have forced me into this position. Do have a seat." He said.

"No thank you, I won't be staying long. But may I just say, your own personal chambers in St James' Palace – I am _very _impressed, if that is indeed the correct word."

"Ye go out of yer way to breach the walls of St James' Palace just so ye can express ye contempt for me new rank as Admiral?"

"It's very hard not to show disdain when seeing you in such a sorry state. And if I am being brutally honest, I hadn't exactly planned what I would say to you when I got here."

"Didn't think so." He chuckled.

"Don't say it like that, and don't _laugh_."

"I know how much ye love to play with words, Lu. Having ye walk in without an epic speech already prepared is a rare occurrence indeed."

"You're one to talk, my friend. You've always had the sharper tongue and spouted about sixty syllables a second."

"I'll be taking that as a compliment."

"I thought you would."

"If I may be so bold, but would I be flattering meself greatly by presuming that it is not merely for the benefit of my company that ye have scaled walls, faced arrest and most likely a hanging, to gain entrance to St James' Palace?"

"You would."

"Blast, and there ye go crushing the hopes of an old wretch that his charms and dashing good looks can still drive a _signorina _such as yerself to brave any risk just to see him."

"I hate to be so direct (you know how I hate to be direct), but I simply have to know why in God's name you have become a… a… _privateer._"

"Would ye believe me if I told ye that I'd seen the error of me ways and am now consumed by patriotic pride and desire to serve our beloved King?"

"Not even slightly."

"So it's the long version then."

"If you wouldn't mind."

He sighed wearily.

"Last time ye saw me I was heading for the Fountain of Youth-"

"Because our last attempt at gaining immortality went so very, very well, didn't it Hector?"

"-and even when I learnt that Sparrow had stolen our charts I was not deterred. Despite our mishap all those years ago with the treasure of Cortés – that you so kindly mentioned – I was set on living forever. That is until I had a run in with Blackbeard…"

"That… that can't have gone well for you."

"An understatement of ever there was one, my dear."

"What happened?"

"Off the coast of Hispaniola, the _Pearl _came under attack. _Queen Anne's Revenge _were suddenly upon us, ripping the crew and the ship to pieces with cannon fire for no other reason than we happened to be there at the time. The cannon fire weren't the worst thing they had planned for us though; the planks and timbers began to creak, and next thing we know, the rigging is bearing down on us, tying us up like flies in a web. Me leg was bound, but me hands and sword were still free. So I cut meself loose," He raised his wooden appendage. "and survived."

After a long silence, Lucrezia cleared her throat and said:

"That explains your new status as a cripple, but not the privateering lark."

"All thoughts of seeking immortality fled. Me only goal was, and still is, to have me revenge. Blackbeard had killed me crew and taken the _Pearl_, and I needed both a ship and a crew to go after him. This 'privateering lark' seemed the quickest and easiest way to get them. If all goes according to plan, I should be sailing to the Fountain of Youth in the not too distant future, and there I will find Blackbeard."

"I confess, I feel considerably less contemptuous than I did a minute ago. I'd love to stay and chat, but coming here at all was a rather sizable risk and staying was a simply humungous one. You've satisfied my curiosity. I'm hoping that once you've had your revenge, as I know you will, you'll be back to your old pirating ways. Who knows, perhaps we've still got one last caper left to pull together."

"We could pull a caper right now."

"What are you insinuating, you dirty old man?"

"I be insinuating nothing of that sort, ye reached that conclusion all on yer own, ye little tart."

"Then what exactly _were_ you insinuating?"

"A few words with the King and I'm sure I could convince him that ye will be invaluable to the expedition."

"You… you wish to take me to the Fountain with you? Why?"

"Because ye will be invaluable."

"Are you being sweet or sarcastic?"

"Could be one or t'other, I'll let ye decide. Don't be over thinking this decision, Lucrezia. You over think everything. Just see it as another one of our escapades."

"Hmm…"

"Ye can either go back to… whatever it was ye were doing before ye came here or ye can come with me. Ye'll be hard put to find a more exciting voyage than a trip round Whitecap Bay and a gander at the legendary Fountain of Youth."

"Well…"

"What'll it be?"


	2. The Reader Is Taken Back a Decade or So

**_Author's Note: _I do not own _Pirates of the Caribbean_**

**EDIT: Portions of this chapter have been rewritten_  
><em>**

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><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: The Reader Is Taken Back a Decade or So

Lucrezia loved the sea the way children love their mothers and fathers. No person or material good had ever given her so much. She'd never known anything but the sea and over the years it had come to be her whole world. It understood her wants, needs, fears and hopes and was always with her no matter what awful circumstance or hardship befell her.

It was so deeply ingrained into everything she was that there was never a thought of living any where else but on its waves, even if that meant living the lawless life of a pirate. It wasn't blood that ran through her veins, but saltwater. The sea was her life and her life was the sea. There was no way to separate between the two.

It was her desire to be forever sailing the seas that led her to a ship and a crew that would change her life forever. Lucrezia knew what it was like to have ones world turned upside down and lose everything one ever knew, but this would be uncharted waters for her – literally.

Her last ship, the _Adder_, had just finished a successful attack on a merchant vessel and made port in Tortuga to divide up the plunder. She had taken her share and like other members of the crew, gone out to seek work on another vessel. After almost a week on land, she regretted her decision not to stay on her former ship. Of all the ships that were docked in the harbour, only a few were in need of new crewmembers, and those that were rejected her either on the grounds of her being a woman or an Italian. She could generally get work with no difficulty – pirates didn't tend to be all that picky when it came to crewmembers, as long as they could pull their weight and follow orders, but it seemed as if her luck had changed.

She hated being on land for any length of time and was starting to get restless and desperate. Being on land equated to being caged, and she was on the brink of smuggling aboard a ship when she heard a rumour that the eccentric Captain Sparrow of the _Black Pearl _was recruiting new crewmembers for a voyage to the mysterious Isla de Muerta.

Lucrezia had been treated to all sorts of horror stories about the supposedly cursed treasure, but had always been more than a little sceptical of such things and brushed them off as flights of fancy and tales used to frighten younger lads. Besides, as far as she was concerned being out on the sea again was completely worth the risk of an ancient curse.

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><p>"I can't help but notice the flow of recruits is running dry, Captain."<p>

"All in good time, Bill."

"We've been here for five hours."

"Clearly that time is not good enough, so we'll just have to wait a little longer."

"We've got a large enough crew now and I don't think anyone else is going to agree to sail to the Isla de Muerta."

"That's your common sense talking. You really should learn to tune that out."

"Sir, not everyone here is as mad as a brush like you. This is pointless. We've run our course, let's just take the crew we've got and set sail."

"Now you're just lying outright. The patrons of this particular establishment all show rather brush like tendencies. Very brushy, very brushy indeed… and only broken pencils are pointless."

"How did you get the idea of going to Isla de Muerta into your head anyway?"

"Lots of things get into my head without my knowing, so it's useless asking me."

"Could you try telling me something useful? Like the location of the treasure, for instance."

"The island can only be found by those who already know where it is."

"I suppose that makes a sort of sense. A really confused and strange sort of sense, but a sort of se-"

"In order to learn the location of the island, one has to go there."

"But how can one go to the island unless they already know where it is?"

"They know by going there."

"But how can they go unless they already know?"

"They go by knowing the way."

"Please just answer me this one simple question without making a riddle out of it. How do you get to the Isla de Muerta?"

"Oh, that's easy. You can find the island by having already found and located it in its known location and therefore knowing the proper course to that place that it's in, savvy?"

"What? Did you not here what I just said?"

"Of course. There was nothing at all riddlish about my answer."

"Jack, you _do _know the way to the island, right? Have you been there before or something?"

"Aha!"

"Aha?"

"Aye, aha. I have a map."

"But I thought what made this island so special was that it wasn't charted on any map."

"Well, you're forgetting the extenuating circumstance."

"Which is?"

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Never mind."

"Bill, if you're just going to sit there with a long face, make yourself useful and go get us more rum, there's a good lad."

Bill Turner sighed and got up from the knotted, slightly sticky bench he had been sitting on. The Faithful Bride was the most popular tavern in Tortuga and consequently the dirtiest. Inane chatter and raucous laughter resonated off the grimy walls with never a single lull in volume. Bill forced his way through the crowds of filthy sailors that brought with them the stink of brine, seaweed, fish and body odour, the stench of them only rivalled by that of the animals that wandered freely through the inn. A few limp, shrivelled plants had been brought in to try and brighten the place up without much success. The smoking, guttering candles glowed yellow like the urine that soaked the floors. Even late in the evening the mass of bodies made the tavern hot as a furnace – sweat that had condensed on the ceilings dripped back down onto the patrons. On wetter nights, rained also dripped through the many cracks in the ceiling.

After almost tripping over a heap of rotting cabbage, Bill reached the bar and ordered two more bottles of rum. Staggering through the inebriated crowds had been difficult enough with free hands, but now with a bottle of rum in each hand, neither of which he was particularly inclined to spill, parting the walls of pirates was near impossible.

A good ten minutes of battling with the other sailors later, Bill finally reached Jack's table which sat amidst all the calamity and commotion like the eye of a loud, drunken storm. He almost dropped the bottles he had been protecting so valiantly when he saw a woman standing in front of the table. He was surprised that she had not yet made whatever grievance she had with Jack known through a good hard slap, as many women were wont to do, and his surprise only grew when he noticed the woman was in male clothing and signing the roster, in response to which Jack grinned up at him eagerly and cried "Look, look, we've got a new brush!"

Bill sat down on the bench and surveyed the new recruit in front of him.

"Um…"

"Oh, cheers mate." Jack snatched both bottles while his crewmate was distracted.

The woman beamed warmly down at them, but Bill found that though the muscles of his face underwent a few mild spasms in an attempt to smile, he couldn't return it, as an icy shiver shot down his spine, as cold and deadly as a bullet. Her smile reminded him of a shark, only this particular shark was smiling demurely, as if to say 'Me? Dangerous? Why, what on earth would make you think such a thing?'

The first thing that caught one's attention when face to face with her was the not the scar, as one would expect, but the eyes. Bill was trapped in the gaze of those mismatched eyes. The left eye was black as the ocean depths, while the right was the same, only under the veil of a misty whiteness. The change in colour was caused by a long, thick scar that started at her hairline and ran down the right side of her face, stopping just past her jawbone. Her wild black curls fell just past her shoulders, and her swarthy skin, the golden brown hue of a Spanish or Italian woman, had been darkened extensively after what must have been a goodly number of years under the blistering sun. It was difficult to guess her age, but Bill decided she was just over thirty.

Swallowing, he ripped his eyes away from hers and glanced back at his Captain, who had emptied one bottle and was starting on his second.

"So, it seems we did manage to get one last recruit after all. Only took us five hours, but we got one."

"Yep. She was more than happy enough to join even after I described the stories of the curse with every horrifying detail I can recall, which just goes to show how very proven wrong you have been."

"I see."

"Though I guess we should call it a day and get back to the ship… just as soon as I've got some more rum." Jack had only been half paying attention to Bill during their brief conversation and now shifted his full attention back to the far more diverting bottle of rum.

Bill made the mistake of looking back into her eyes. She hadn't moved a muscle, but simply stood there and watched the exchange. He found himself helpless under the strength of her gaze. _This isn't natural_, he thought to himself.

Lucrezia smiled and said "You must be William Turner. Captain Sparrow mentioned you while you were absent. It's a pleasure to meet you." The woman had a strong Italian accent, as her skin colour indicated she would.

"Pleasure to meet you too… you're not at all daunted by the thought of being cursed by the treasure of Cortés, then?" He managed to force out a sentence despite the sudden dryness of his mouth.

"I'm sure that there is no real truth in those legends."

"Well, the legends have certainly succeeded in keeping many of the other pirates at bay."

"Only the stupid and the gullible fear such hokum. Over the years I have come to learn that the majority of the population are either stupid, gullible, or a combination of the two, Mr Turner."

"Call me Bill."

"I will be calling you Mr Turner, if it doesn't bother you too much. I've always liked to have a more formal approach with my crewmates. Call me old-fashioned, but that is just my nature."

"Um, of course, Miss…?"

Instead of answering, Lucrezia pointed to her name on the roster. Bill was thankful for the opportunity to drag his eyes away from the woman's to read the remarkably neat handwriting on the bottom of the paper.

"Lucrezia?"

"Yes."

"Lucrezia…?"

"Just Lucrezia."


	3. The Black Pearl and Some Old Salts

**_Author's Note: _I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean_.**

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><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: The _Black Pearl _and Some Old Salts Are Introduced

The _Black Pearl _had always been a greatly treasured and beloved ship of several different individuals. Jack Sparrow sold his very soul to have her raised from the depths and over the years she would change hands many times – most notably through being stolen (twice by Barbossa) and later shrunk and trapped in a small glass bottle by Blackbeard.

The future adventures (all of which the reader is privy to) of the _Black_ _Pearl_ were as of yet a mystery to our characters. At this precise moment in time, the only thing they had planned for the _Pearl _was an expedition to the Isla de Muerta to find the legendary Aztec gold.

As the _Pearl _sailed out of Tortuga, Lucrezia stood by the mainmast and carefully surveyed every detail of the ship. Each ship she sailed on was like a new country, and Lucrezia liked to take the time to study the geography and enjoy the delightfully unique features of each one. The most notable thing about the galleon was its colour. True to its name, the ship's hull and its very sails were black. _A good intimidation tactic, _Lucrezia thought _and useful for camouflage at night_. Both the fore and mainmasts were rigged with topsails and topgallants, while the mizzen possessed only a topsail and a topmast stay-sail; along with the fore stay-sail and flying jib, the _Pearl _carried more canvas than the average vessel, and could probably reach an impressive speed, given the right wind. Another unusual facet she noticed was that the capstan was located on the main deck, at the mizzen mast, instead of its traditional location at the foremast.

She had also been able to get a good look at the figurehead before boarding, and was impressed by the detail on the winged woman. She had been holding a bird aloft, its wings outstretched as if it any moment the wooden carving would suddenly take flight and be free.

All in all, the _Black Pearl _seemed to be a rather splendid ship, but she was not entirely sure what to make of the crew. If they were anything like their captain, she'd probably lose her mind before the week was out. She had heard that Captain Jack Sparrow was a bit of a rum cove, but she could never have been prepared for just how strange he actually was.

When she had said she wanted to join his crew he had leaped to his feet, almost knocking the table over in the process, and declared that she was a brush. Before she'd been able to ask what on earth he was blathering about, he'd started waving the roster under her nose, while giving a very colourful and barely coherent account of Aztec gods, cursed treasure and eternal punishment. When he was finished, he sat down and asked calmly if she would still like to join his crew, as if his behaviour hadn't been at all out of the ordinary.

On reflection, she didn't understand why she had signed the roster after such a display.

Hopefully the crew would comprise of more balanced individuals, like the other crewmember she had met, Bill Turner. He seemed to be close to the captain, but rather weary and flaccid in nature. Lucrezia supposed that having to spend any length of time in the presence of Captain Sparrow would do that to a person.

A skill that had taken her years to hone was the ability to be able to sense when people were staring at her. This could be rather useless since she had a tendency to draw people's attention. In this instance, her skill helped locate two pair of eyes that were staring at her from the railing.

When the two grubby figures realized that the object of their attention had spotted them, they jumped and scuttled a few feet further down the deck, away from Lucrezia. She sighed and walked towards them.

"She's coming, what should we do?" the taller of the two men hissed to his companion.

"Just act natural." The shorter man hissed back.

The taller man began to fidget and blink rapidly, a rather disturbing effect given the fact that his right eye was missing.

The shorter, older man straightened up to be as tall as his short stature would allow and crossed his arms.

"What?" the shorter man snapped as she stopped in front of them.

"You two gentlemen seem to have been studying me most intently for the past five minutes." She said calmly.

"What's it to you?" the taller one said with as much bravado as he could muster.

"Forgive me, but _I _can't help but be curious about what _you _both find so curious about _me_."

"Didn't realize there were going to be women aboard." The short man replied gruffly. "As far as I can tell, I am the only female aboard this vessel, so technically there is only a _woman _aboard."

"It's bad luck to bring women aboard."

"I can't say I've had any complaints from any of the other crews I have sailed with. I have as much right to be here as any man. I would simply love to see you try and make me leave."

"If you want to make trouble with us…" both men put their hands on the hilts of their swords.

"Really gentlemen, I don't like to make trouble (actually that's a lie, I do like to indulge in the occasional slice of chaos)… I am just pointing out that I am just as much of a pirate as you, and should your apprehensions about me make you do something drastic, I shall respond in kind. I _will not _be cheated out of my fair share of treasure because of two superstitious fools."

"Is there a problem?" The three aggravated pirates noticed a fourth person now also standing at the rails. None of them had met or seen him before, but from his tone and manner he was clearly in a position of authority. Or was at least a high enough rank over them to punish them if they were behaving in a way he did not feel was fitting of his crew.

"No, not at all." Lucrezia replied coldly.

"Is that so? It's just yer conversation seemed to be getting rather on the heated side, miss."

"You exaggerate, sir. I assure you there is no need for alarm."

"I should hope not. I assume I don't have to remind the three of ye that the articles ye all signed clearly state that any quarrel between crewmembers is to be settled on shore with cutlass and pistol. Any violation of the articles is dealt with swiftly and _severely_."

"Course sir. Sorry sir." The tall man mumbled. The shorter man had now joined him in his fidgeting, shifting their weight from one foot to the other and both were avoiding looking the man in the eye.

"What exactly are you apologizing for? We haven't done anything wrong. At least not yet."

"Talking back to yer superior after having been on the ship for less than an hour? I can see a bright future ahead of ye on this vessel."

"I would not be 'talking back' if I were not being admonished (quite unnecessarily I might add) within my first hour of being on board, _sir_. If I wished to duel these two bumbling imbeciles (no offense intended, I assure you), I would obey the articles and duel them on land, in the approved fashion, rather than engaging in a brawl on decks."

The man narrowed his eyes. After a long, tense moment of silence, Lucrezia continued:

"I apologize for any disrespect, sir, and may God strike me dead should I ever behaviour in such a manner in your presence again. Truly, from the very depths of my heart I plead forgiveness for my most egregious impudence." Her tone implied her apology was anything but true, and though the voice in her head warned that being so impertinent with one of her superiors was a stupid thing to do, she found she couldn't help herself in the face of such unashamed condescension.

"It may not be any of me business, though I don't much care if it isn't, but may I ask why the three of ye were quarrelling in the first place? I cannot begin to imagine how anyone could argue with such a charming and agreeable creature such as yerself, miss."

"These two gentlemen seem to frown upon someone of my gender being aboard a ship."

"Sir, how do you feel about having women aboard?" the short man suddenly asked. The man shrugged.

"I have no strong feelings one way or the other, Master Pintel. But I suggest ye acclimatize to the idea of having women aboard… and I also suggest that to prevent further bickering the three of ye don't play together. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." Lucrezia and the two men said simultaneously.

"Good."

"Not to sound too blunt sir, but who exactly are you?" Lucrezia inquired. The man smiled and bowed a tad mockingly.

"The First Mate, Barbossa."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Barbossa."

"The pleasure is all mine, miss…?"

"Lucrezia."

The shorter man (who Lucrezia now knew was named Pintel) frowned in confusion at the lack of surname.

"Lucrezia what?" the tall one asked.

"If she does not wish to give a last name ye should not go asking for one, Master Ragetti." The First Mate commanded.

"Right." Ragetti nodded.

"Back to yer duties." Barbossa addressed the two men.

"Yes sir." They obediently left the First Mate and the woman and went below decks to make themselves useful by helping to shift and organize supplies. Or rather, making themselves useless by attempting to help and instead making a mess and getting in peoples way.

"Mr Barbossa, may I just thank you for being the first ever person not to press for a surname? And most likely the last, unfortunately."

"I don't intend to become yer bosom friend, so it doesn't matter how many names yer have, just so long as I have something to call and command ye with beyond 'you-come-here'."

"No matter what your intentions or your reasons; I appreciate the gesture all the same."

"Glad I can do something for one of my newest recruits." His voice was laced so mildly with sarcasm that for a moment Lucrezia thought she was imagining it – but if anyone could detect traces of mockery, it was her. She tended to use sarcasm at almost any given opportunity, and she sensed that this was a man who would do the same.

_Splendid_, Lucrezia thought to herself, _a Captain who is out of his mind, at least two fellow buccaneers who believe women bring nothing but bad luck to a vessel and an extremely snarky First Mate – if I serve on this ship for a month or a decade, no matter how long I am here it will most certainly be one of the more memorable exploits of my life._

"And how glad I am to be serving under such a humble, respectful gentlemen. If only there were more men out there like you."

He chuckled, but then said in a more serious tone:

"A word of advice Lu – may I call you Lu?"

"No."

"Continuing to talk back to a man of higher rank are we?"

"So it would seem."

"Lu, you may want to curb that sharp tongue of yours or you'll be getting into more than just squabbles with slow-minded miscreants."

A retort of how he should try taking his own advice sprang to her lips, but she restrained herself and instead replied:

"I'll try to keep that in mind."

"Ye have work ye should be getting along with, I presume?"

"As do you, Mr Barbossa, sir." She replied with false sweetness.

"Away with ye then, ye mangy wench."

"Aye aye, right away sir. Your wish is command." She made no attempt whatsoever to keep the sarcasm out of her voice in spite of what the First Mate had just commanded.


	4. A Lacklustre Start and a Wooden Eye

**_Author's Note:_ I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean_**

**EDIT: Portions of this chapter have been rewritten**

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: There Is a Lacklustre Start to a Fateful Quest and the Sudden Appearance of a Wooden Eye

Her first day aboard the _Black Pearl _had convinced Lucrezia that she was surrounded by madmen, and while this theory had yet to be disproven, she found she didn't especially mind.

She quickly fell back into the comforting routine of mindless, tedious and tiring labour that she had been living by her whole life. As a new crewmember, she was set the lowest and dirtiest of the tasks. It seemed most of her days were occupied by scrubbing various portions of the deck. Her more exciting days involved tasks such as pumping excess water from the bilges, scraping barnacles from the hull and making general repairs to the ship. On one particularly stimulating occasion she had been asked to steer the _Pearl _for a brief spell.

The constant cycle of back-breaking work was something Lucrezia had hardened herself against very quickly after first becoming a pirate in her youth. The skin of her hands were as callused and rough as stone while the rest of her already brown skin had darkened due to hours spent under the baking Caribbean sun. Manual labour had made her more toned and muscular than other women, which had a practical advantage but she found it could be a little unnerving to men around her. In fact, more than once it had led to allusions that she wasn't a woman at all.

Considering this was supposed to be a voyage to the mystical Isla de Muerta to steal all the (supposedly cursed) treasure hoarded there by Hernán Cortés Lucrezia felt cheated of excitement and adventure she had expected would be an integral part of the journey. She would have thought there would have at least been some anxious anticipation from the rest of the crew at the prospect of getting their hands on such a vast quantity of treasure, but no, they went about their daily lives as if there was nothing special about their destination.

As dull as the work was, the company was certainly not. If she had ever believed that during her first meeting Captain Sparrow was just having an especially… insane day, spending more time in his company proved that for Jack Sparrow, everyday was an insane day. He seemed to drift about in a world of his own, utterly lacking inhibitions or common sense, always followed and monitored by his more level-headed subordinate Bill Turner, who at times seemed to be in danger of being driven over the edge by Sparrow's peculiar ways.

Despite his apparently insane and gormless manner, Lucrezia was sure there had to be more to Sparrow than met the eye. If he truly _was _as stupid as he appeared, he would never have been able to survive for so long in the pirating world, let alone become a living legend. No, she believed that the madness was not faked, but that he was a lot sharper and craftier underneath his façade of foolishness.

Poor Bill Turner had a constant air of mental, emotional and physical exhaustion about him from the burden of watching over Captain Sparrow. He seemed more generous and honourable than the average pirate, but very put upon. Perhaps he was simply being too paranoid and too mother-like, but when it came to Jack Sparrow if he didn't have someone like Bill to stop him from executing his more random ideas, there was no knowing what would become of him.

She assumed that the role of Jack-minder would have gone to the First Mate, but Barbossa spent most of the time stalking about on his own, watching over the crew like a hawk and exercising his authority as First Mate to its full extent. From what she could tell of his character, he was a manipulative, arrogant, vain, power hungry sort of man with a head almost as big as the ridiculously oversized feather hat he always insisted on wearing.

Because she had formulated this opinion of him so quickly, she was loath to admit she had taken an instant liking to him since she recognized some of her own characteristics were also present in him.

For all of his numerous negative qualities, he had a penchant for dry, dark humour that she always adored seeing in people, an eloquence that was becoming a dying art form and an air of mystery about him that sparked Lucrezia's curiosity. She was certain that whatever past adventures he had behind him would be truly fascinating to listen to.

She doubted that even if she did stay on the _Pearl _she would ever hear any tale he had to tell. The 'air of mystery' would not exist if things were known of his past, and she chalked her eagerness to know his as an 'I only want to know because I won't find out' sort of mindset. She could torture herself indefinitely until she finally _did_ learn his secrets, and when she did learn them they would lose all their charm and desirability.

Instead, Lucrezia resigned herself to the fact that his private life would always remain private and she should respect that – he had respected her unwillingness to provide a surname, after all. She suppressed her curiosity until her desire was little more than the occasional flicker.

Pintel and Ragetti had been doing their best to avoid her ever since they had first met. The thought of a woman on board seemed just about tolerable to them now, as long as they didn't have to have anything to do with her, but she came to the conclusion that making amends with Pintel and Ragetti would be much better than just returning the favour and ignoring them outright. She had never liked seeing grudges and quarrels between crewmembers fester, because they would inevitably come back to haunt all parties involved later.

"Masters Pintel and Ragetti." She dropped a small bow to them as she passed them in the hold on the way to her hammock, even as they did their best to avoid her penetrating gaze. Most of the company were retiring for the night, herself and the two men included, and this seemed as good a time as any to speak to them.

"What do you want?" Ragetti demanded, eyeing her nervously. His previously empty eye socket was now filled with a wooden replacement.

"Why should I want something? Can you really read so deeply into a simple greeting?"

Neither of them responded, but continued to regard her with unmasked suspicion. Lucrezia sighed.

"Mr Ragetti, how nice for to finally have a substitute for your missing eye."

"Barbossa lent it to me." He mumbled.

The two men lapsed back into silence, causing Lucrezia to sigh again.

"We're going to be on this ship for some time, gentlemen. It would be best for us all if we learnt to live with each other. May we make a fresh start with our past argument forgotten?"

The two men gave noncommittal grunts, which Lucrezia took as an utterly fantastic sign.

"How does a woman get on the account anyway?" Pintel muttered, half to Lucrezia and half to himself. She shrugged. She assumed most women turned to piracy for much the same reasons men did, but speaking from her own experience, that would be a hard question to answer – or at least to answer clearly.

"It just sort of happened. I was practically born into this way of life, and I've never known what it's like to make an honest living. Now if you'll excuse me, it's late and I'd like to rest. Goodnight."

Again, two noncommittal grunts.

* * *

><p>Anyone who knew Hector Barbossa would tell you he was not a generous man by nature. Everything he offered came with a price.<p>

Ragetti barely knew him, and even he had been sceptical when the First Mate had kindly given him a wooden eye. His suspicions proved correct when Barbossa had explained the true nature of the object and made him swear to protect the figurative piece of eight with his life. Ragetti had been torn between awe at seeing a real Pirate Lord in the flesh and terror at the thought of what might happen to him if anything became of the eye – if the reader ever wondered why Ragetti always seemed so protective of the lump of wood, it was out of fear of what Barbossa would do to him if he lost it.

In spite of Ragetti's bumbling ineptitude, Barbossa had been pleased by his addition to the crew as he now presented an opportunity to hide his piece of eight in plain sight. Beyond keeping him around as a protector and a vessel for the wooden eye, Barbossa felt no deeper attachment to the man – or any of the crewmembers under his command. The sailors were a likely enough lot, but each one could be very easily replaced.

Except perhaps the woman; there were not that many female pirates on the market.

Woman or not, she was proving to be as good as any other sailor on board the _Black Pearl_. She went about her work quickly and efficiently with never a single complaint. She seemed to have somehow managed to smooth things over with Ragetti and his equally moronic uncle, Pintel, and despite obvious unease among some of the crew due to her being of the female persuasion, she was always unfailingly polite.

He had been a little wary of her at first since she had expressed an insolent streak when they first met. Much to his surprise, she only ever responded to orders with a meek 'Yes, sir – right away' instead of the sarcastic backchat he had expected. He wasn't sure if he felt that to be a good thing or a bad thing; it was rare to come across another with a decent sense of humour in this business.

But, no matter what her failings, she was a splendidly obedient worker.

The sky had been glowing a rich, deep navy, the strange mixture of pale blue, dove grey and orange streaks on the horizon the only indication that dawn was approaching while a few pearly, wispy clouds skated across the line of the horizon, their edges aflame where the glow of the hidden sun touched them. The ocean lapped gently about the ship, the sound of water on wood little more than a whisper. Every crest of the waves sparkled like crystal under the stars and the first ghostly rays of the sun.

Not a soul was stirring aboard the _Pearl _save Lucrezia, who had the honour of steering the ship through the night while everyone else slept peacefully in the hold, resting after a long day. _An honour indeed_… she thought to herself as she shook herself awake again and repressed shivers as the chill sea breeze seeped through her clothes. The only thing that was keeping her upright was the strong solid wheel she was clinging so tightly to. She would have loved just to curl up in a ball on that very spot and sleep, but instructions were instructions, and it would never do to disobey them.

Luckily, her stupor was soon to be fully dispelled – unluckily, it was dispelled by a piercing scream suddenly rang out from below decks. Lucrezia, who was not easily alarmed by anything, jumped at the abrupt shattering of the deathly calm. It seemed that the sound had done her job for her, for she heard the footsteps and voices (namely a variety of colourful swear words) of the freshly awakened crew from below decks.

Baffled by the surprisingly feminine shriek, she decided to temporarily abandon her post at the helm to investigate. On a ship full of hardened thieves and criminals, something had to be terribly wrong to illicit such a sound. She had been halfway down the staircase from the helm when a figure burst onto the deck in a swirl of dark hair and flapping arms. The man shrieked and continuing rocketing around the deck. Lucrezia almost instantly recognized the man as Captain Sparrow and also, it seemed the source of the noise.

Watching her Captain run around the deck like a headless chicken was not an experience she had ever had before and was not prepared to deal with. Her options were either to go back to the helm and act like nothing unusual had happened, wait for Mr Turner or someone else to come and calm the frenzied man or try and deal with him on her own. At the moment she was executing an option she hadn't even considered; stay where she was and watch what happened next.

Finally the Captain stopped whizzing about the deck and collapsed in a heap at the foot of the stairs, his head in his hands. He lay there motionless for minutes before Lucrezia descended the final few stairs (while still keeping a safe enough distance from his prone form) and asked, very gently:

"What ails you, sir?"

A low, muffled whimper escaped through his hands and his body was racked by violent trembling.

"It's gone!" he suddenly said.

"What's gone?"

"I can't believe it's really gone!"

"I repeat my question – what's gone?"

"Something without which," he paused, swallowing thickly "we cannot possibly go on."

"Food? Water?"

"The rum!"

Jack Sparrow was in obvious distress, but considering it was over a matter so trivial Lucrezia couldn't help but laugh.

"How can you be laughing at a time like this?" He squawked indignantly, his head shooting up to look at her.

"My apologies. This travesty shook me so much that I surpassed grief and passed over into hysteria."

"We're not even a week out of Tortuga, and already the rum is… is…" the Captain let out a keening wail "_gone_."

"This must be a very traumatic time for you, sir. Why don't you go and have a lie down?"

"Why is the rum gone?!" It didn't seem that Sparrow's tirade was going to end anytime soon.

"Sir, I'm afraid I have no idea as to why the rum is gone."

"What are we going to do?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The rum is gone!"

"Really? I could never have guessed."

"Something _must _be done to rectify this… this…"

"Cataclysm? Disaster? Tragedy?"

"_Yes_!"

"Sir, I think the pursuit of the wealth hidden on the Isla de Muerta takes priority over our rum supply."

"Nothing takes priority over rum!" He sprang to his feet and flew at Lucrezia, forcing her to start inching her way back up the stairs to the safety of the helm.

"Not to be intruding, Captain, but I'm afraid I must side with Lu here." The First Mate emerged from below decks, regarding the other man with well masked disdain. Sparrow didn't just lack finesse, he lacked _control_ – any kind of reaction from him was an overreaction. Barbossa preferred the more subtle and sophisticated approach, so Sparrow's behaviour always disgusted him.

"But-"

"As soon as we've taken the treasure ye can buy as much rum as ye can get down yer greedy throat… sir." He added as an afterthought. He was not in the best of humours, mostly from being awoken by a girlish scream.

Captain Sparrow's brows furrowed while he considered his First Mate's words, but before he could reply, Bill Turner came stumbling out on deck. Any further discussion about the rum supply was ended as Bill fussed over his distraught Captain and whisked him away into his cabin to tend his frazzled nerves.

"Thank goodness for Mr Turner." Lucrezia murmured to herself. During the debacle with Sparrow the sun had emerged completely from beyond the horizon, and the rest of the crew were tentatively coming above deck now that the ship's lunatic had been safely stowed. She returned to her post at the helm, only noticing that Barbossa had followed her when her hands were back on the wheel.

"You took your time." She said irately.

"What do ye mean?" he asked.

"I was left alone with that rum deprived madman for a rather long time before any assistance arrived."

"Ye should probably be getting used to that sort of thing. He drinks like a fish, and that's putting it lightly."

"How lightly?"

"Let's just say in under a week he had managed to drink over half of the _Pearl_'s supply, which is not exactly small. He really shouldn't be all that surprised that the other half disappeared overnight, considering this vessel has a crew of thirty."

"Well, at least Mr Turner should now be able to console him and save us all a lot of bother."

"Lu, may-"

"Lucrezia."

"Lucrezia… is it really just Lucrezia?"

"Don't you start, sir."

"Have ye noticed ye tend to add 'sir' to yer sentences when ye're saying something more disrespectful than usual?"

"I had."

"Least you're self aware. May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"Where did ye learn such impeccable English? Yer repertoire of complex words is astounding, especially for a gentleman – or rather a lady – of fortune."

"Speak for yourself."

"Aye, but at least I be speaking me native language."

"I can't really say where I learnt to speak English. The skill of being bilingual is just something I've picked up over the years."

"Parlez-vous français? Español? Português?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Ye said yer were bilingual."

"Yes, well," For one of the few times in her life she felt like an idiot "when I said bilingual I meant that my experience with languages only extended as far as English. The final language was Portuguese, wasn't it? Only I'm not sure."

"T'was. Like yerself, I learnt most of what I know from me travels, but I was taught Portuguese by me dear dead mother, seeing how it was her native language." Lucrezia paused before responding, filing away personal information she never thought she would gain from the First Mate.

"Ah, I always thought Barbossa was a distinctly foreign sounding name."

"What of yer family, Lucrezia?"

"It's a little ambitious of you to be pushing for personal details when you don't even possess a detail as small as a surname."

"_Le mie scuse, io non volevo offendere_." (My apologies, I didn't mean to offend).

Her annoyance was forgotten as she grinned gleefully. Aside from actual Italian pirates, she found it difficult to find other pirates who could speak her language.

"I'm not sure if I should be pleased that you speak Italian or annoyed that you are parading your talents in front of someone distinctly lacking. _Lei è un uomo molto frustrante_." (You're a very frustrating man).

"If ye wouldn't be too adverse to me asking one final question?"

"I suppose not."

"Do ye drink?"

"On occasions, but not very much. Drinking is not a vice I especially enjoy, but I must confess that I enjoy smoking a great deal."

"I'm afraid I don't have any tobacco, but I thought ye might like this." He pulled a bottle of rum out of his pocket and tossed it to her.

"Just make sure Sparrow doesn't catch ye with it."


	5. Bearings Are Unwisely Given Up

**_Author's Note:_ I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean_**

**EDIT: Portions of this chapter have been rewritten**

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: Bearings Are Unwisely Given Up

Lucrezia had been ordered to take the helm again, a task that had once felt like a pleasant break from more menial work but was now something she felt some dread about undertaking. Especially since the First Mate and the Captain were both standing by while Sparrow read the map and provided a heading.

She had to admit she found it rather interesting to watch the two interact. Sparrow was a very… free spirited individual compared to the more grounded Barbossa, which could cause clashes between the two. However, she soon realized it was more than that.

At first she had thought that it was simply because of the spectacular difference in personalities, but she had overheard (not accidently i.e. eavesdropped on) some of their conversations and Barbossa kept trying to steer Jack in the direction of the island's location.

In a typically Sparrow-like fashion, he would wiggle his way out of Barbossa's grasp and go off on a completely different tangent, though whether this was deliberate or part of the Captain's inability to focus on one subject for more than three seconds was unclear.

She didn't know what Barbossa planned to do with the information, but she guessed it wouldn't be anything good; at least not for the Captain.

"Hmm…" Jack held the map out in front of him, eyes narrowed in concentration. Frowning, he leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the map. He shook his head, making his dreadlocks fly in all directions and jangle as the debris in his hair moved. He carefully laid the sheet out on the floor and planted his feet on either side of it before crouching down on his haunches to look at it more closely.

Barbossa sighed in exasperation, tapping his foot impatiently. The Captain scuttled back a few steps, still in a crouched position and picked up the map again. He held it above his head, tilting his head back and squinting as the sun shone into his eyes.

Lucrezia could almost feel the irritation and impatience rolling off the First Mate in waves as Captain Sparrow studied the map in his unorthodox fashion. She couldn't help but sympathise with Barbossa's sentiments in this case. The two of them had to stand aside and look on during the Captain's lengthy ministrations on the parchment, not even allowed a single glance at the maps contents.

He stood up straight once more, the map back in his hands and turned the sheet that was causing such fascination and frustration on its head.

"I thought it wasn't the right way up… or maybe it was?"

He cocked his head and kept rotating the map, as if he would only be able to succeed in reading it if he managed to turn it and his head upside down.

"This ain't working." He muttered, and began digging around in his pocket for something.

"Oh here we go…" Barbossa finally had to voice his anger.

"What is it?" Lucrezia asked, wondering what sort of contraption the madman was about to pull out his pocket.

"The magic compass."

"A compass?"

"A _magic _compass."

"In what way is this compass magic?"

"It doesn't point north for a start."

"Where, pray tell, does it point then?"

"At the thing ye want most in the world."

"That's ridiculous."

"I know."

"But… it really isn't possible to have a magic compass that points to your heart's desire, because no such item exists."

"I know. But let's humour our esteemed Captain, shall we?"

Sparrow grinned in delight as he finally succeeded in extracting the device from his coat pocket and snapped open the lid to examine the spinning disc. His grin faded into a pout and morphed again into a frown as the disc continued to spin dizzily.

"Blasted buggering little…" he muttered as he violently shook the compass "why won't you work?"

"How lucky we are to be aided by magic, aren't we Mr Barbossa?"

"Aye, t'is a great improvement on anything we could accomplish with our feeble, earthly instruments."

Jack scowled at the pair and started waving his arms at them, "Shoo!"

"Captain?"

"Be gone, the both of you. You're being not even slightly helpful." He pushed Lucrezia's hands off the wheel and took the helm himself, still gripping the map and the compass, making his hands very full indeed.

"How exactly were we meant to be helping in the first place?"

"All we were doing was standing here and watching ye act like an idiot… as per usual."

"I said shoo!"

Barbossa, not wanting to listen to anymore of the Captain's ridiculousness, did as he was told and 'shooed' down the stairs onto the main deck. He leant against the railing and watched as Lucrezia, who was less knowledgeable when it came to all matters related to Jack Sparrow, made one final attempt to reason with him before following in the same path as Barbossa, away from Sparrow and into the company of more sane individuals. She did not notice that the Captain stuck his tongue out at her when she had turned away. Barbossa rolled his eyes, something he seemed to be enacting more and more frequently in response to Sparrow's actions.

He was thankful to be free of the man's presence, but if anything his annoyance had increased. He had to see that map, at any cost.

"I can't help but notice that the Captain is grating on your nerves, Mr Barbossa." Lucrezia, rather than getting on with her duties as she undoubtedly ought to, decided to recover from the overwhelming effect Sparrow had on any he came into contact with by having a short rest and chatting with the First Mate. Considering the First Mate in question was Barbossa, he may not have been the best choice of companion when looking to unwind.

"And there I was, thinking me feelings were undetectable. What gave me away?" he asked with his typically sarcastic tone.

"You genuinely believed your feelings were secret?" Lucrezia asked, being no less sarcastic than the gentleman "Sometimes when you disapprove of the Captain's actions (which is often), you roll your eyes so hard I swear I can hear them move in their sockets."

"Lucrezia, can ye look me in the eye and tell me honestly he doesn't grate on yer nerves either?"

"He _can_ be a little aggravating at times."

"Like waking us up by wailing like a banshee at the crack of dawn all because we've exhausted the ships rum supply."

"And keeping the map and the location of the island hidden. Perhaps this is just my insatiable curiosity talking, but because he _won't_ share any information, I am desperate to know; and I know you are as well."

"What do ye know of the Isla de Muerta?"

"The island cannot be located with a map (save the one the Captain has that will apparently guide us there), but only by people who already know who where it is. Oh, and I've endured a few renditions of the traditional tales of terror that surround places of mystery such as the Isla de Muerta."

"Yes, everyone knows that much about the island, anything else?"

"There is something else to be known about the island?"

"Ye've heard of the cursed gold that's stowed on the island, but that be only a fraction of the wealth of Hernán Cortés."

"Is that so?"

She crossed her arms and arched her ruined right eyebrow at him. Looking into her eyes, he was hit full force by the power of them for the first time in his acquaintance with her. They glistened, their shimmering surfaces proving they were as flat as any other's eyes, but the black hole stretched away into a chasm regardless, and the white mist swirled on listlessly, seemingly concealing nothing – he could almost imagine the monsters in both that could come out to greet him.

"The island itself isn't of great importance to anyone, it is the vast network of caves that runs beneath the rocks that people are interested in. The underground caverns are bursting with the fruits of Cortés' labour, treasure from every known (and a few unknown) corners of the globe. Every crook and cranny in that place is stuffed with silver, gold and precious stones. Just imagine it – more treasure than even the most avaricious pirates could dream of, in _our _hands… now, ask yerself, what would become of such riches in the grubby hands of one _Captain_ Jack Sparrow?"

"If I had to make a wild guess, I would have to say rum, a variety of women in a state of dubious sexual health, possibly some gambling, more rum, and probably just a bit more rum on the side."

"Exactly."

"To be fair to the Captain, you'd hardly be spending it in a more worthy or reasonable manner." She pointed out, eliciting a laugh from the First Mate.

"Aye, but better I be the one spending it rather than him. Besides, ye shouldn't be concerning yerself with how I'd waste my hard earned cash. Think of what ye would do with that kind of money."

Lucrezia looked away from Barbossa and stared out across the rippling sea. _Well, when you put it like that…_ she thought as her mind savoured the images of gold he had planted in her head. She turned back to him and said:

"You hate Jack Sparrow. You do not merely have a strong dislike of the man, you truly hate him. You wish to remove him from the picture, as it were."

"He's a buffoon even on his best days, and I rather prefer the prospect of taking the treasure for meself (and me crew, of course) over him using it to buy enough rum to drink himself to death. Not that I would be adverse to his death, and I doubt ye would be either if it meant more gold for ye."

"What is it that you are plotting, sir? Munity?"

"Precisely. As soon as I can get the moron to give up the bearings of the treasure, he's gone and I intend to take his place."

"Enormous piles of money as well as power and a ship. There are certainly enough benefits in this endeavour… for you at least. It seems I'd gain as much from having Jack Sparrow as a Captain as I would from serving under you, Mr Barbossa."

"Perhaps ye would, but ye agree with me when I say he's a pain in the arse, aye?"

"That may be true, but I think I could endure him if it meant, what were your exact words? 'More treasure than even the most avaricious pirates could dream of'."

"Maybe ye could tolerate the idiot, albeit at the cost of ye sanity, but ye prefer me over him, don't ye?"

"…yes."

"How much more would ye prefer me if I said I'd make ye First Mate if ye participate in the mutiny?"

"A great deal more."

"I'm sure yer view of me would only continue to improve once I took me rightful place as Captain."

_Just when I thought his ego couldn't get any bigger_, Lucrezia mentally rolled her eyes in accompaniment to her thoughts.

"Being First Mate is far too stifling for me, especially under a Captain such as Sparrow. Given the chance, I could-"

"Please, if you're going to lure me over to the dark side, do so with more dazzling descriptions of gold as opposed to yourself."

Barbossa chuckled despite the insult she had paid him. He hadn't entered this conversation with any genuine intentions of revealing his plans, but the words had just come flowing off his tongue, particularly when his temper flared at the mentions of Jack Sparrow. If he had to blame his unguarded statements on one thing, he would pin all blame on her almost supernatural stare.

But he couldn't find it in himself to regret telling her – she was clever and practical, both traits he admired and even though offering her the position of First Mate had been another whim he hadn't fully stopped to consider, it didn't seem like a half bad idea. In hindsight, _she_ had been the one to take the first step down this path in the conversation, when she pointed out his craving to know the location of the treasure; perhaps she had already suspected him of being up to something.

"Ye're a sharp one, Lucrezia. We could rule these oceans, ye and I… what'll it be?"

"You don't need to make some impassioned (bordering on romantic) declaration, sir, to win me over."

"Have ye been won over, as ye put it?"

"At this stage in the game, I'm not entirely sure whether I will be participating in your mutiny; it all depends on the chance of success. But rest assured I won't be informing the Captain of your plot."

"I'm afraid ye don't have much choice now, Lu. Either ye agree to assist me overthrow Sparrow, right here and now, or I accuse ye of being the mutinous cockroach hiding amongst the crew."

"Excuse me?!"

"Ye expect me to just _trust _ye not to go to the Captain?"

Lucrezia glared but her expression softened quickly and all vestiges of emotion retreated as she considered her options with cold, military precision. It seemed she had allowed herself to be cornered – her choices in the matter were really as simple as join Barbossa's mutiny or… no, that was the only option worth considering. _But what are the benefits of my option? No longer serving under the mentally unstable Captain Sparrow; and what else? If memory serves, he did briefly mention something about me attaining the rank of First Mate should I serve under him…_

"Alright, Mr Barbossa, I'll make you a deal."

"Name yer terms, Lu."

"Can not calling me Lu be one of said terms?"

"No."

"Very well. I swear on the sea that I will help you banish Captain Sparrow from the _Black Pearl_ and assume his position as long as I am guaranteed the position of First Mate (which also includes an extra share of the treasure as well as authority aboard the ship)."

"Haven't I already as good as promised ye the position of First Mate?"

"No, you haven't. You alluded to rewarding me with the position should I agree to join you in the mutiny, but you never said so outright."

"By the powers, yer be right. Are those yer only terms?"

"They are."

"In that case, I accept. Welcome to my crew, _Signorina _Lucrezia, First Mate of the pirate vessel the _Black Pearl_."

"Do me the honour of overdramatically welcoming me into it when it is _officially_ your crew, if you don't mind."

"It will be, soon enough."

"You have something planned I take it?"

"Sparrow is a complex man, both a genius and an idiot at the same time. With the right approach I should be able to learn the island's location."

"Thank goodness, there I thought you didn't have a strategy but instead were just going to act on instinct."

"Do ye have any ideas? I'm all ears."

"There is nothing I can say in regards to Sparrow. However, if I may offer a piece of advice, if you give a speech about the riches as the Isla de Muerta that is half as enchantingly descriptive as the one you gave me to the rest of the crew, they will side with you in an instant."

"Ye mean to say it wasn't my winning personality and buckets of charisma that convinced ye to join me?"

"Well… they certainly aided you in selling the stories of treasure (pun fully intended, by the way)."

"Ah, well if they helped me to inspire rebellion and mutiny in the otherwise dependable and detached heart of an Italian woman, I might as well consider myself Captain of the _Pearl_ already."

Barbossa moved away from the rail and began to ascend the stairs to the helm once more, where a much calmer Jack Sparrow still stood navigating the ship with the help of the now crumpled and twisted and the 'magic' compass.

"Putting the foolproof 'plan' into action are we, sir?"

"Something like that."

"I would wish you the best of luck, but I think we would both agree wishing and luck are hardly the best ways to grasp what we want. Regardless, I hope for your success, Mr Barbossa."

With a small bow he departed. Lucrezia smiled to herself as she assessed the developments in her situation. She couldn't say how things would resolve themselves, but they would do so in one of three ways: the most attractive prospect would be a successful mutiny and becoming First Mate; attempts to discover the information held by the map failed and she would continue serving under Sparrow as if there had never been a plot to overthrow him; or the worst case scenario was that she and Barbossa (and any other mutineers) were overcome and either marooned or killed.

The odds were in Lucrezia's favour of things working out very (or at least tolerably) well for her. There was the possibility of certain death, but what was life without its risks? She'd taken a risk by being here, by joining the expedition to find the Isla de Muerta in the first place.

It didn't matter a great deal, one way or the other. After all, what were the chances of Barbossa actually convincing the Captain to give up the bearings?


	6. The Inevitable Mutiny Occurs

**_Author's Note: _I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean._**

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: The Inevitable Mutiny Occurs 

"Well that was definitely one of the most flawless and effortless hostile takeovers that has occurred in the history of piracy," Lucrezia said, swinging her long legs up onto the cluttered table as she packed her pipe with tobacco – a pleasant practice that she didn't get to perform anywhere near as often as she wished. The only sacrifice of living a seafaring lifestyle was the woefully poor supply of tobacco she could carry on her person and the sporadic chances to restock. "And I say that with utterly no sarcasm."

"For once." Barbossa was lightly juggling a pair of apples he had taken from the crystal bowl at the centre of the table.

"Did you truly believe the mutiny would be so successful?"

"Of course I did. I had every confidence in meself to usurp the role of Captain without a single incident."

"I suppose this is _you _we are talking about. I shouldn't have even had to ask, really." There was more truth in her statement than she cared to admit.

She had been more than just a little astonished when he informed her he had gained the bearings from Captain Sparrow less than half an hour after his first attempt, but she took the surprising completion of the first stage in her stride, feeling that perhaps this man were more worthy of the title of Captain than she had first thought.

The second phase of the plan, he had explained, would be winning the support of the rest of the crew. Ignoring all of her snarky comments, Barbossa had smugly claimed that this would be an even easier feat than learning the treasure's location, and if all went according to plan (as he was absolutely certain it would) Jack Sparrow would be leagues away, left for dead, a distant memory in their minds by morning.

She had assisted him in rallying all of the crewmembers below decks that evening for the move that would either make or break the mutiny. Any doubts she had had about the success of their campaign to win over the crew were dispelled when he stood in front of the crowd and began to speak. He may have loved to be the centre of attention, but Lucrezia grudgingly had to admit he had good reason to. The man had the raw power and strength of character to draw the eye of every individual sharing the same air, and coupled with the intellect and charm to ingrain his message in the hearts and minds of his audience, he was utterly unstoppable when standing before the multitude.

It seemed the cantankerous First Mate had actually heeded something she had said (at least partially) in jest and decided to sway the crew with lavish tales of boundless treasures. He had slandered Jack by implying that he would keep practically all the spoils for himself and only share a few meagre trinkets with his fellows. While he, Barbossa, would be a much more generous and appreciative Captain – every man would receive at least three times the number of shares with him than they would under Sparrow. With a promise like that, no pirate worth the title would have declined the offer. His influence over the crew had been so strong he had managed to silence any protestations at having a woman for a First Mate before they had grown any stronger than vague murmurings. Even the fiercely loyal Bill Turner had yielded to the will of Barbossa; though Lucrezia suspected this was more out of fear of what his fate would be if he decided to stay true to his Captain in the face of the majority.

The entire affair was probably one of the calmest and most civilised things one could ever see roughly two dozen pirates do. The crew had gathered on the deck, looking on eagerly while their soon-to-be Captain and First Mate had gone up to the helm, where Jack Sparrow had refused to hand over control of the wheel to anyone else since that morning. Lucrezia hailed him as they approached, and was gifted with little more than a grunt from the preoccupied man. She wasted no time in trying to gain further attention, thinking the best way to do so would be to state their business.

"Sir, you may be less than delighted with this announcement but-"

"We be taking the ship." Barbossa said.

"You can either depart with quiet dignity, or…"

"We can do this the fun way."

He had stared at them with wide, black eyes, the whites of them gleaming with ivory paleness against the dark chasms of his irises. Barbossa had snapped his long, spidery fingers, calling forth a few men to drag Sparrow onto the main deck where a handful of others were preparing the plank for the poor wretch's final farewell. As soon as the board of wood had been secured in a suitable position, Jack was unceremoniously hoisted onto it and stood there dumbly, opening and closing his mouth like a startled fish as the lead mutineers descended from the helm to see their former Captain off.

Barbossa slipped his hand into his belt, withdrawing a pistol that he held aloft before Sparrow's seemingly sightless eyes.

"One shot, Jack. Be certain ye make it count." He had said with a bitter laugh before forcing it into the other man's limp hands. Sparrow stared at the gun hanging loosely from his tanned hands, finally seeming to comprehend what was occurring on board his dearly beloved _Black Pearl._

"Um…" he breathed, raising his head to survey the metaphorical sea of faces awaiting his plummet into the black, choppy, _actual_ sea.

Barbossa was not well known for a great amount of patience, and was not willing to wait as Sparrow came to terms with his fate. Putting his hand on Jack's shoulder he only had to administer a very gentle shove for the dazed man to slip and fall into the tumultuous waves far below. Sparrow, who was prone to flailing in the most inappropriate situations, at least managed to save himself the embarrassment of any kind of ridiculous gesture as his survival instincts galvanized him into swimming furiously towards the island (a mere spit of land) a few miles away. Cheers and general chaos erupted around the new Captain and First Mate as they watched the retreating figure fighting the tide; as if the ambience of composure the crew had been exuding had been a strained façade that they had lost all will and energy to maintain when events had reached their climax.

"Humph, that was rather disappointing. I had been anticipating some very fine last words from the immeasurably infamous Jack Sparrow." Lucrezia almost pouted. True, it was best that the mutiny had gone ahead smoothly instead of dissolving into disaster, but she had been expecting something… more.

"Who cares if the blackguard was infamous?" Barbossa sneered "A reputation won't get him anywhere in the Locker."

"No, I suppose it would be worth nothing. So, what is our next course of action, _Captain_?"

"Do ye mean in the grand scheme of things or right now?"

"Simply what will be our next step in the here and now should suffice."

"In that case, to me cabin."

Of all the scenarios she could have pictured for how the night would end, this was certainly the most favourable. The Captain's cabin was the grandest room on the ship, both in size and decoration. Candelabras and lamps were scattered across every flat surface, mounted on every wall and dripping like wax from the low ceiling. For all the illumination in the room, the dark hue of the wooden walls overwhelmed the light, making the spacious cabin seem cramped, the corners bathed in shadows and gloom. The entire back wall was occupied by windows overlooking the sea and the expanse they had traversed as they passed over its waters. The main feature of the room was the mahogany table in the centre, sitting atop a Persian rug, littered with maps, charts and navigational equipment.  
>Much of the free space in the room was filled with boxes, crates and chests of drawers pushed flush against the walls, and all throughout the cabin, put boastfully on display were rare, prizes Sparrow had collected from around the globe. The most peculiar thing about his hoard was how he had seemed to decide to incorporate much of it into his every day life, instead of using it in a fashion more deserving of its value. Strings of pearls had been used as makeshift cords for securing the curtains of the ornately carved bed with the luxurious red covers (velvet, Lucrezia was guessing) to the posts; statues had been acting as coat stands, draped with spare articles of clothing; a pair of gold bars were being used as paper weights; and, much to Lucrezia's horror, he seemed to have been using a truly exquisite Chinese vase as a chamber pot for occasions when he couldn't be bothered to remove himself from the cabin to relieve himself.<p>

Sitting at the aforementioned table, the Captain and First Mate were basking in their triumph while the crew celebrated in their own more boisterous fashion out on deck. How they were able to do so without a single drop of rum on board was a mystery to her, but if there was one thing she had learned over the years was that when pirates want to make merry, they do so with admirable gusto, no matter what the circumstances.

"Sir," Lucrezia said, the smoking unfurling from between her lips and spinning in lazy coils through the air like snakes "may I just say that due to your plotting and my reassignment this has become my most prosperous voyage yet – and we have not even claimed our plunder yet."

"Ye've never been First Mate on any of yer previous ships, I take it?" he had ceased toying with the apples and was not alternating in biting the two of them.

"No, sir, I have not."

"This must be quite the promotion for you."

"Indeed. I take it that _you_ have been First Mate on previous conquests?"

"Nay, not before the _Pearl_."

"Oh good, for a moment I-"

"But I was quartermaster on one vessel many a year ago, and Captain of another not long after that."

"…damn you."

"Come now, Lu, the world is yer oyster; yer'll reach higher ranks eventually. How long have ye been on the account, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"Perhaps a little over a decade."

"Ye can't have been very much more than a mere slip of a girl when ye first turned pirate – not that I imagine ye could ever qualify as a slip of a girl, no matter what yer age."

"Indeed, I was not. I spent the earlier years of my youth travelling the Mediterranean under one Captain Cipriani, a veritable slave driver, but an excellent disciplinarian and ruthless when it came to the pursuit of all things expensive and valuable. He was most likely the cause of a good beginning to my pirate career, if piracy can a career be called."

"As much a career as anything else, Lucrezia. Ye didn't stay in the Mediterranean?"

"No, I changed crews frequently after Cipriani and as a result I was whisked from one edge of the globe to the other and back again, as I am sure every gentlemen of fortune (or any other kind of sailor) is during their lifetime. But, I have been grounded, in the loosest sense of the word, in the Caribbean for the past few years, so maybe I have settled in one location after spending so much time wandering."

"Any place in particular ye think ye might return to one day, should ye ever tire of being settled down?"

"You're very inquisitive tonight."

"Well, ye never talk."

"You say that as if you do."

"I'm still waiting on an answer."

"Egypt was a beautiful and fascinating place that I would like to see at least once more while I live, should I get the chance. It also contains the fond memory of an especially large ruby I, let's say acquired. And you, sir? Is there any region of the globe that you hold in especially high regard?"

"The Caspian Sea and its caviar have always held a special place in my heart."

"Caviar?"

"Ye know what it is, don't ye?"

"I've heard of it, but sadly I've never had the personal pleasure of tasting the delicacy."

"Ye haven't lived! I have got to take ye there to sample some after this voyage is over and done with."

"You'll take me halfway across the world just to taste caviar for the first time?"

"Certainly."

Lucrezia shook her head and took another drag from her pipe, bemused by the Captains overwhelming enthusiasm for the strange food. At his core, he really was a man of simple pleasures, even though simple for him seemed to include journeying to the other side of the globe for fish eggs.

"Do ye ever think of going home?"

"Home?" Lucrezia frowned "Tell me, Captain, do you consider England to be your home?"

"Nay and I haven't done for a very long time. I was just a boy when I first became a sailor and not quite a man when I first became a pirate. The sea has been me home for most of me life."

"The sea is my home. As long as I am afloat, I am home. I have no need nor want to go anywhere, sir."

"No pangs or nostalgia for… what part of Italy do ye hail from exactly? I can't tell by yer accent."

"_Quel posto non è più prezioso per me più di qualsiasi altro paese – e nessun paese vale più di una goccia nell'oceano_." (That place is no more precious to me than any other country – and no country is worth more than a drop in the ocean).

"Ye can't really be all that detached, Lucrezia."

"You said you were but a boy when you first took to sailing. You've a long career behind you; anything especially enthralling to impart?"

"To tell the truth, Lu, this is the highlight of me career. Ye'd be right in saying I've been in this business a long while. In the same way that I earned this vessel, I've earned more than my fair share of gold and jewels over the decades in the good, honest pirate fashion of stealing. I've had me highs and lows, been pauper and prince, but this particular venture will change me financial luck – permanently. I wasn't exaggerating even a little when I related to ye the treasures awaiting us on the Isla de Muerta. Each man could take ten shares and there would still be enough loot remaining for another hundred men to take their own ten shares. When this is over, I intend to be a disgustingly wealthy old man."

"You're not so old, sir."

"Thank ye, but if I hadn't made ye First Mate this night I doubt ye'd be saying something so kind."

"I'm not going to insult your intelligence by saying you are wrong."

"Another kindness on your part."

"You make out that I am some manner of vile, irascible, bitter old hag!"

"Vile, irascible and bitter are all traits ye possess, my fair one, but I'd hardly call ye an old hag when ye're not far past thirty."

Lucrezia scowled irritably and slumped further back in her silken padded seat, sucking furiously on the mouthpiece of her pipe. Thinking he had paid her something of a compliment (a small compliment veiled by an insult), he arched a questioning eyebrow at her sudden decline in mood.

"I fear my hard lifestyle is taking its toll, for I find people assume my age to be a number that is, well, somewhat higher than my actual accumulation of years."

_I see… that's what I get for mentioning a lady's age, I suppose_, Barbossa thought to himself as her expression and tone turned icy.

"What be yer _actual _age then, _signorina_?"

"Sir, I am barely five and twenty."

Although it was an ill-advised reaction to the truth from an already vexed woman, Barbossa couldn't suppress a few chuckles at her indignation and the absurdity of the thought that this woman, who held herself with such strength and superiority was only in her mid twenties when he had thought her to be thirty-two or three.

"It is not _funny_." She all but spat.

"_Au contraire, _the situation is made all the more amusing by yer disproportionate anger, Lucrezia."

Still with a deep scowl scarring her forehead, she slammed her now empty pipe down on the table and snarled through gritted teeth:

"You old fool, you're-" She took a deep breath to stop herself before she said anything more.

"I apologize," Barbossa said sincerely "but ye should try taking it as a compliment that people see ye as being older than ye actually are. I for one thought ye were of a greater age because ye seemed to be a woman of great wisdom and experience."

"Sarcasm?"

"Nay."

"Oh. Alright then… apology accepted, sir. If you don't mind, it is getting rather late in the day and I would like to retire."

"Goodnight, Lu."

"Goodnight, Captain Barbossa."

"Hector."

"Pardon me?"

"Me name's Hector Barbossa."

At any other time Lucrezia would have doubled over with laughter at such a sensible, genteel name being paired with such a gentlemen, but after his apology she found it in herself to restrain her initial reaction.

"Not that I'll be allowing ye to call me that."

"Indeed."

"At least not on deck."

"No, of course not."

"Off ye go then."

"Goodnight, Hector."

The instant she had shut the door behind her, she threw back her head and allowed her restrained guffaws to echo across the deck and the ocean, not caring that Barbossa and the crew both heard her.


	7. A Capuchin Monkey Is Adorable

**_Author's Note: _I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean._**

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: The Isla de Muerta Is Frightening and a Capuchin Monkey Is Adorable

The aptly named Isla de Muerta (or Island of the Dead) sat amidst chalky layers of dense fog, eerily still and silent as in a tomb, the vast skull shaped rock merely the head of a giant's decomposing skeleton that lay beneath a watery shroud. The thick mist fluttered gently and skidded to and fro across the sea as if stirred by the skull's soft breath. Such was the strange atmosphere of the cursed Isla de Muerta – the few souls who reached the phantom island alive could sense it, the feeling that despite all outside appearances of emptiness and desolation, something dark within that place lay dormant, sleeping, its cold dank breath seeping out of the rocks and chilling the island's visitors to the bone. Any who ventured too deep into the network of caverns risked waking the unknown evil. Woe betide he who was brave or foolish enough to pass the point of no return and found themselves caught in the clutches of… whatever was in there.

The reader, of course, knows what lies within the caves of the Isla de Muerta (and knows what becomes of the poor wretches who discover it), but must understand that prior to theft of the gold by Barbossa and his crew, none had any knowledge or proof of the truth behind the legends. The enigma of the island made it all the more terrifying for the ships that managed to locate it, and thus terror of the unknown coupled with the very real sense of evil about the island caused by the curse made the mist shrouded, skull shaped island the very embodiment of fear.

The sea splattered about the jagged, weather-beaten rocks, coating them with salty spray and making their savage tips glisten like savage knives in the moonlight. The rocks had had much the same sort of fatal affect as a metal blade on the lives of many sailors who had the fortune (or in reality, misfortune) to reach their destination, spearing ships that sailed too boldly and briskly through the dangerous fog. The misshapen rocks that took lives so readily gave absolutely nothing back; no person nor animal, not even a single plant could be sustained by the cold, dead stone.

Battered, broken carcases that could once have been called ships littered the sea bed surrounding the island, the oldest ones almost completely reclaimed by sand and sea while a few of the more recent shipwrecks perched precariously on the edge of the sloping rocks, being slowly dragged, day by day, deeper into the unfathomable depths. The island sat before the cracked, rotting vessels like an enthroned king surveying the countless riches he has amassed, each sunken ship a treasure chest, each body one more jewel. The forsaken vessels were mass graves in the sepulchre of a hellish temple.

It was on this scene that the _Black Pearl _made her entrance, cutting through the pearly mist with more caution than those that had passed this way before her. The water was as calm and flat as a puddle, and cocooned in the white fog as they were, unable to see through the wall it created around them it seemed as if they were sitting in a puddle with no surrounding ocean to sail through. But the _Pearl _kept drifting onwards regardless. The mist shimmered as the bright, silver moonlight came into contact with the wispy, intangible vapour, giving it an ethereal glow.

Aside from breathing, the crew were as silent as the grave, all the burning excitement that had been building up ever since the day of the mutiny and reaching its peak as they neared the island doused as they entered the moist fog. All felt that a single sound would bring about some inherently dreadful occurrence – what exactly would happen they could not say, but entering a mysterious place that few came back from alive, a dragon's den in which they did not want to draw unnecessary attention to their presence lest they bring misfortune down on their heads, froze them as effectively as ice.

Sailors were by nature a superstitious breed, but for some their greed overcame their qualms. Each man aboard the _Pearl_ was this sort of individual, for only those who would be willing to risk a curse to get their hands on a few trinkets had been brave enough to join the expedition. Finally at their journey's end all of their superstitions came rushing back to greet them with a nauseating wave of fear. Every instinct they had told them they should leave as fast as they could. There were no doubts in any of their minds, minds that were temporarily free of dreams of treasure, that the Isla de Muerta was a place of evil.

* * *

><p>"Sir, I never thought I could appreciate treasure this much."<p>

"Then you've clearly never had any amount of cash worth having. Cheers." Barbossa downed the rest of his glass of champagne.

"Cheers."

"So, what do ye think? How about 'Hector', after his master?" He asked, affectionately stroking the capuchin monkey curled up on his lap.

"There's no need to be cruel to the sweet little creature. Besides, if you were to name him Hector every time I called the name I would be answered by two hairy louts instead of just the one."

"Don't ye start getting snarky with me, Lu. Ye have hardly been any help in naming him either."

"Every time I suggest one you snap at me that he is yours, therefore the honour is yours and my suggestions are utterly ridiculous anyway so why am I even bothering and could I possibly go and get you another drink?"

"On that note, could ye possibly go and get me another drink?"

"Not until a sensible name has been chosen for him."

"Sebastian?"

"No."

"Bartholomew?"

"Definitely not."

"Oscar?"

"Slightly better, but still no."

"Leopold?"

"I can feel my will to live slipping away from me. This horror is never going to end, is it Hector?"

"Stop being so overdramatic. What do ye think of Roldão?"

"Oh wonderful, now we are extending our repertoire of ludicrous moniker's beyond the realms of the King's English."

"It be Portuguese for Roland-"

"Also a stupid name."

"Ye have a problem with me going back to me roots?"

"Only if it results in an unfortunate monkey being saddled with an equally unfortunate name. Another."

"Sheldon?"

"Where are you getting these silly names from?"

"They be perfectly respectable names."

"That should never be bestowed on any living creature, ever."

"How about Rudy?"

She groaned and slapped her forehead (in an action the reader most likely knows as a 'facepalm').

"You're a pirate for goodness sake; I think there is some manner of unwritten law forbidding you from christening your animal familiar Rudy. Please start having a better taste in names otherwise I'll be forced to pick."

"Go on then, Lucrezia. Give it yer best shot."

She put down her champagne glass and drummed her fingers on the table, struggling to think when the overpowering drunken roars and peals of laughter from rowdy pirates kept resonating up through the floor in the main section of the tavern below. _If this is the volume level in a private room_, Lucrezia thought as she frowned in concentration _I shudder to think what it is like to actually be down there_. Thinking of wild drunken pirates gave her the inspiration she needed. She grinned triumphantly at Barbossa and said:

"How does 'Jack' sound?"

"Jack?"

"As in Sparrow."

Barbossa looked down into the little creature's face and the back up at his First Mate. Suddenly he laughed out loud, much to the shock of the animal in his lap and for a brief moment his deep, booming laughter was vociferous enough to drown out the raucous bellowing from beneath them.

"Perfect!"

At that moment the door burst open to reveal a member of the crew, a scoundrel by the name of Twigg if Lucrezia's memory was correct, with his arm about the wide waist of a buxom ginger whore. He stopped in the doorway and grimaced slightly while the prostitute looked oddly at Lucrezia.

"Apologies, sir, ma'am," Lucrezia still felt a small thrill whenever one of the men called her ma'am, a habit they had all seemed to develop overnight "didn't mean to… was looking for an empty room…"

"We didn't assume the pleasure of our company wasn't quite the type you had been hoping for. Try another room."

"_This _is what you're wasting your money on?" the whore said, gesturing at Lucrezia just as Twigg was about to withdraw "You should come along with me once I'm done with this rogue, sir, I can assure you I'm all woman."

"My dear girl, after living in Tortuga for such a long time I can understand it must be difficult to make the distinction, but not all women are prostitutes. Do I _look _like a whore? Am I dressed in the appropriate garb? Am I attractive enough? No, on all counts, I'm sure you will agree."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Lucrezia held up her hand.

"I apologize; I am keeping up from earning well deserved money. Off you go, you two, and have fun."

"Oh, Master Twigg?" Barbossa called as the door was closing on the pair.

"Yeah?"

"Give her one for me."

The door finally shut on the pirate and the whore, leaving Barbossa and Lucrezia in peace. Withdrawing her pipe from her pocket and pulling a few strips of tobacco (which she now had in joyful abundance) from a leather pouch on her belt, she packed and lit the implement before saying:

"The crew are certainly making the most of their newfound wealth."

"And yet when we first got to that island they were all shaking in their boots. I thought they'd never shift their arses."

"Well, a few heated threats from an enraged pirate known for his ruthlessness, viciousness and swordsmanship and also wearing the biggest hat money and vanity could buy will have a profound effect on a man."

"Me hat _does _have a certain domineering look that brings men to their knees."

"The hat makes the man, it truly does."

"Perhaps we could get a matching one for Jack, here."

Jack the monkey was to become an integral part of the crew and win favour in the hearts of many after they saw his delightful, decomposing face on screen. I'm sure the reader has perhaps wondered once or twice as a passing curiosity where the mischievous little fur ball had come from.

After loading down the ship with the treasure of the Isla de Muerta, the following weeks were a blur of sailing from port to port, indulging in every earthly pleasure the crew could think of (which were very few, as it turned out – food, drink and women). Every day seemed to be comprised of entering a seedy inn, spending at least a dozen hours or so in the bosom of the town's most seasoned drinkers before everyone parted ways for 'pleasurable company', as Barbossa tactfully phrased it. Lucrezia had been delighted to discover that though most sex workers catered exclusively to men, for every ten made-up, sluttish prostitutes there was a made-up, sluttish _male_ prostitute. Late one evening, in a generic tavern in a generic port, the men had been running amok through the room as per usual, mingling with the other sailors and old salts and drinking what probably equated to the Atlantic ocean in rum. The tavern was possibly a little cleaner than any respectable establishment frequented by pirates should be, but this detail was ignored in favour of focusing on alcohol.

Barbossa had been giving a rather drunken and convoluted speech (by some miracle making it carry over the sound of the sailors around them) about all the things he hated most about Jack Sparrow to Lucrezia, a woman with whom he seemed to be spending practically every waking moment with these days, and never for the reasons that he normally sought out the company of women. He ranted, rambled and droned on for quite some time before he realized that he did not have her full attention, but instead she was gazing intently at something just over his shoulder.

"It pains me to know that I, yer very own Captain Barbossa, are not worthy of your consideration, Lucrezia."

"I'm sorry, what?" she blinked as if waking from a deep sleep and looked back at the put out man sitting across the table from her.

"May I ask what it is that ye find so much more diverting than meself?"

"You see the pirate behind you?"

He glanced over his shoulder at said pirate, who was sitting at the table behind them and was, if possible dressed even more extravagantly than Barbossa, clad entirely in richly coloured and crafted velvets, silks and satins, every digit of his finger bejewelled and his face lost beneath the shadow created by the massive plumes of white feathers exploding from the brim of his tricorn hat.

"I know what ye're thinking Lu, and no, his hat is not better than mine."

"No, it is the rather splendid little gem that is sitting upon his left index finger that fascinates me so."

Calling the ring 'little' was a lie. The delicate latticework on the silver frame just reached the knuckle and was not far off from the middle joint of his finger. Nestled in the shining swirls of metal was a gargantuan ruby, so pure and bright in colour that it appeared to be emitting light rather than reflecting it.

"It's so very… _shiny_." Lucrezia breathed.

"I'm glad to see yer sharp tongue and verbal prowess don't fail ye under any circumstance, _signorina_." He had never seen the perpetually cold and detached Italian work herself up into a state over something, and he found he rather enjoyed seeing her passion ignited by the precious stone.

"Oh hush."

"The jewel is certainly an impressive sight, but I would have expected yer tastes to be less gaudy."

She did not respond but continued staring hard at the tasteless ring like a starving man who sights a feast. He never fully understood what inspired him to do what he did next, but it seemed the most logical thing to do – from a pirate's perspective at least – after seeing his First Mate and friend gazing with such intense longing and covetousness at the possession of another.

It had been a simple matter of slipping the tip of his dagger under the frilly cuff of the pirate's sleeve as his hand hung languidly off the arm of the chair, under his wrist and slicing upwards, swiftly and sharply. The man's hand fell with a wet splat upon the floor and the tavern was silenced for a split second as an almost ultrasonic screech came from the unfortunate being, staring in horror at the bleeding stump where his hand had been attached mere moments before.

(In case the reader is not aware, as long winded as this anecdote is, it is leading onto the introduction of Jack the monkey.)

As soon as the scream had passed his lips, the pirate turned white as a sheet and collapsed in a faint. His companions, a group of dandies like their friend, seemed less concerned with how exactly the mysterious loss of his hand had come about and more with fretting over their fallen friend; they whisked him upstairs in a flurry of flapping handkerchiefs and swishing frockcoats. Aside from a few exclamations of how odd the affair was, everyone else carried on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Barbossa surreptitiously plucked the hand from the floor, slipped the desired ring from its finger and dropped the bloodied appendage back onto the ground.

"You can never do anything simply, can you? You always have to make an extravagant display." Lucrezia said in awe, still struggling to recover from the strangeness of what had just transpired.

"Aye."

"You just dismembered a man's hand."

"Right again."

"For no real reason."

"For no real reason?" he pressed the ring into her palm. She stared blankly at the gem so he added:

"Consider it my treat, Lu."

Her unreadable facial expression morphed into a wide grin and she clapped her hands in delight. She held the ring up to the light, turning it to allow the light to wink off of the ruby's faces before sliding it onto the middle finger of her left hand. She stretched her fingers out in front of her to admire her new accessory.

"Was cutting a man's hand off completely necessary, though?" she asked.

"We be pirates, we do what we want, when we want and to hell with the consequences. If me whim is to slice a man's hand off so I can make a gift of one of his ornaments for my First Mate, so be it."

"Thank you, Hector, you're a sweetie – I won't forget this."

She had not been lying either; later that week, after they had moved on to a different port she approached him with a finely outfitted simian perched on her shoulder, declaring that the creature was her gift to him after he had "so generously savaged and maimed a stranger in order to procure for me a beautiful present". Only after ensuring that she had come by the monkey through dishonest means (theft – she seemed to have a knack for stealing and sleight of hand) did he dare accept the animal. At first he hadn't been entirely sure what to make of the creature. There was no denying it was adorable, though that was not a word Barbossa often used willingly and would certainly never say out loud. But what did one _do _with it? _Feed it, for a start…_ he thought to himself, but got no further in his mental list.

He only truly came to appreciate Jack the monkey after one eventful occasion when the _Pearl _had been sailing back to Tortuga for further merrymaking and the monkey had got itself into a spot of bother with Ragetti over the wooden eye. The capuchin had not only given the Captain a good half hour's entertainment of watching the lanky pirate chasing the monkey across the deck and through the rigging with absolutely no success, but when it had tired of the game of cat and mouse, the monkey had dropped down onto Barbossa's shoulder and offered him the piece of eight. The idea that the monkey could be useful as a subordinate like any other on the ship had dawned on, but something about his loyalty in returning the wooden eye, his rightful property, to him and his sweet, furry little face had stirred affection in Barbossa.

And so began a long and beautiful relationship between man and monkey.


	8. Things Start To Go Very Wrong Indeed

**_Author's Note: _I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean_**

**EDIT: Portions of this chapter have been rewritten**

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: Things Start To Go Very Wrong Indeed

It was in Tortuga that things started to go wrong.

The descent was a very gradual process, so gradual that at first Lucrezia simply brushed it off – now that they were all filthy rich, they were becoming accustomed to the luxuries that they were indulging in every single day of the week. It was only natural that the thrill and initial pleasure would begin to wane. Besides, no one else was complaining, so why should she? However, she could only bury her head in the sand for so long before she had to concede defeat and admit to the truth.

Lucrezia was not prone to heavy drinking, but now that she possessed more money than sense (and she had a lot of sense) she was partial to ordering numerous bottles of wine with dinner and joining her comrades in drowning themselves in rum; much to the crew's delight, on her more generous days she would even foot the substantial bill for them. Most nights she could be found stretched leisurely on a bench before the inebriated assembly in the local tavern, smiling with mild fondness at the antics of her inferiors from inside a cloying cloud of tobacco smoke entirely of her own making. Looking back, she was surprised she didn't notice all the indications that something was different – something was _wrong_ – that night. The stench of the Salty Minnow inn, a unique blend of (as the name implied) salt, fish, along with a hint of tar and the burnt meat spinning over the spit was not as eye wateringly foul as she recalled it had been the night before; the gargantuan fire that blazed mere feet from her did not bring the thick sheen of sweat to her skin that was glazing the pores of practically every other patron around her. Not that she was complaining about either of these changes at that precise moment. One tends to focus solely on inconveniences and be consumed by the ire they feel, no matter how small the issue is, and barely give the assuaging of their problems more than passing thought. Put simply, people don't usually notice when things are easier or more pleasant than they ought to be, and Lucrezia was no different. But there is always another side to a coin – as I have already pointed out to the reader any sort of discomfort or irritation grates on the nerves to the point of driving one mad. As her evening progressed, our heroine could not help but notice her own mounting unease and the peculiar feeling she was experiencing.

Lucrezia laughed along with everyone else as Ragetti dropped his eye in his drink (again) and swore loudly; interrupting the unnecessarily colourful tale the Bo'sun was telling and earning a punch in the face as a reward. She drank her body weight in port, sherry, beer, wine and (most importantly) rum like everyone else. She had a sexual encounter of dubious consent like everybody else. She had got into what was at first her style of argument – wordy and witty – and then descended into a colossal pub brawl along with everybody else over a few less than favourable comments regarding their Captain's integrity and slights over their mother's respective weights. She was tossed unceremoniously out onto the street along with everyone else.

And through it all, she barely felt a thing.

The distinct sharpness of the spirits she consumed was little more than a tickle in the back of her throat and the quality of the wine – the silky texture, the rich, full bodied flavour – the Captain had been good enough to purchase for her before retiring with a pretty blonde whore was utterly lost on her. She found the affair rather odd, and quite rightly so, but she still continued to refuse to acknowledge the fact that there was a problem. She dismissed her unresponsive taste buds as her tongue's hardening itself against the strength of alcohol. And it seemed it was not just her tongue that had adapted to the drinking; she was far more sober than any ought to be after drinking in such vast quantities. Her speech remained as clear and clipped as it always was. Her actions and reflexes were very smooth and controlled, with no discernable impairment whatsoever.

It was only hours later, lying in the gutter, that a small, sharp thread of nervousness began to worm its way into her gut.

She had done all the activities one does on a typical night on the town, sex, violence and excessive rum drinking, and while in her mind she could count herself satisfied, in body she felt that she had not had enough. She had fallen short of being fulfilled by the evening's endeavours, despite having been in the seedy little tavern for hours. What was even more concerning than this was the cracked ribs she could not feel. The barroom brawl had not been especially long and had a rather ignominious end for all parties involved when the inn's owners and its staff had bodily removed their more lively patrons from the venue and dumped them in the streets. During the fight Lucrezia had revelled in the lack of pain each time she received a blow, but the numbness that followed after the snapping of her ribs was a great deal more alarming. She could not deny the facts any longer. Something was wrong with her.

* * *

><p>Barbossa never thought he would see his seemingly calm and unshakeable First Mate in a state of panic and yet such a thing was happening before his very eyes. But perhaps 'panic' was too strong a word. When most people panic, they have hysterics and fits of the vapours and are generally inconsolable. Aside from actually expressing her concerns verbally and a few hints in her body language – the pacing back and forth about his cabin, the slight frown, the wringing of the hands – there was no other indication of unrest. However, coming from someone who had never shown any sign of being even slightly troubled or taking anything seriously, this new attitude was definitely a cause for concern.<p>

"Sit down, Lu." He commanded. She dragged out the chair opposite him and sank down into it, proceeding to drum her fingernails on the table.

"Explain to me fully what ye problem is."

"Sir, I've already explained it as fully as I can; _I can't feel anything anymore_."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing!"

He really had been hoping she wouldn't say that. Having another say it out loud made it all the more real.

"I did not feel a single sensation, not even when I broke my ribs."

"Ye broke ye ribs?" In spite of the situation, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in curiosity at what she had been doing before seeking him out.

"Oh, don't act like it is unusual."

"Come here."

"But you only just told me to sit down!"

"I don't like ye when ye're stressed. Ye're just as argumentative but a lot less fun."

She sighed in exasperation but followed his instructions and rose from her seat, moved around the table and stood before him. He lifted her (now much filthier than it had been mere hours ago) shirt and probed her ribcage for broken bones.

"Ye're sure ye actually broke something, Lucrezia?" he asked, never taking his eyes off her abdomen.

"Quite certain." She grabbed his roaming fingers and pressed them to the spot she was (fairly) certain had been the sight of the breakage. Upon first touching the area of skin, it was evident that there was something amiss, but before he could take his hand away, Barbossa felt something even stranger. Her broken bones were moving; back into their original place, it seemed. He frowned and splayed his hand across her warm, dark skin to better feel the warping structure beneath her skin.

"Hmm…"

"Hmm what?"

"How much do ye know of the Chest of Cortés?" He lowered her shirt again.

"The Chest of Cortés?"

"The big stone chest with all the shiny gold pieces in it. The ones we stole mere weeks ago, remember?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"Just making sure."

"I don't know very much about it, if you must know."

"The legends claim that the Aztec tribes paid Cortés with the 882 medallions we found in order to be spared of the conquistadors wrath. But the man's hunger for treasure could not be sated by the bribe, so he slaughtered the tribes and took the rest of the spoils, which he stored in the caves of the Isla de Muerta along with the medallions. Angered by his dishonourable behaviour, the heathen gods placed upon the treasure… a terrible curse."

"I'm not sure I like where this is heading." She sat on the edge of the mahogany table and crossed her arms.

"Any who took but a single piece from that stone chest would be punished for all eternity."

"You do love to dramatise don't you?" Her sarcasm sounded more brittle than usual, a mask for her growing fear.

"Ye do love to interrupt don't ye?"

"My apologies."

"The legends didn't specify the exact nature of the curse, but I think ye can guess what I'm hinting at with this tale."

"So what you're saying," she said calmly, having managed to regain a bit more of her usual composure "is that because of that chest we are all going to suffer under a terrible curse which seems to have manifested itself in the form of robbing us of all physical sensation, both painful and pleasurable and we are doomed to continue living in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction until we can gather all of the medallions we have spent and return them to their rightful place on the Isla de Muerta and (this is a rather large assumption, but any understanding of the nature of Aztec gods would suggest it to be accurate) offer some sort of blood sacrifice?"

"Aye."

"… oh dear."

"Indeed."

"What should we do?"

"The only thing we can do – heed the advice of the curse."

"You're saying that we have to track down _all _882 medallions which we have spent in a number of different ports and are probably spread amongst dozens of people and currently in different countries and continents to lift the curse?"

"Aye."

"That's ridiculous and awfully time consuming."

"Disregarding the curse and the legends got us into this debacle in the first place. It only makes sense they would be the key to the curses undoing."

"Oh, listen to you! You never believed a word of the curse when you first heard the tales, so don't run on with all this talk of… like… as if you…" Her composure quickly left her once more, along with her ability to speak coherently.

"We need to accept the consequences of our actions. And when I say accept, I mean do our utmost to undo the damage we've done."

"But… Hector…"

"We've played the game and lost, Lu. The only thing we can do now is focus our efforts on changing our fate."

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Making sense. I'm too angry for you to make sense."

"Well at least one of us here should be."

"_Stop that!_" His poor First Mate was in a great deal more distress than he had first thought. She had managed to get answers as to what was happening to her, which should have pleased but instead, he realized, she was more upset because she was put into a situation in which she was near powerless. And she did not like it.

"How long have you been aware of what was happening?" she suddenly asked.

"A few days."

"Oh."

"I can't even taste apples anymore."

She didn't answer this verbally, but nodded. He watched the candlelight bring out the darker hues of her skin and make her incredible mismatched eyes sparkle. She spoke:

"I feel like a fool for not heeding the warnings but I would have felt like a fool if I had… it's maddening."

"Look on the bright side, my dear Lucrezia. At least this damn curse can not do anything more horrific to us."


	9. Rectifying Actions Begin

**_Author's Note: _I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean. _And I know I haven't said this before, but since I feel loved after receiving a wonderful and detailed review from xmidnightwaltzx, I do appreciate the reviews so much. Thank you reviewers! **

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: Rectifying Actions Begin and Lucrezia Isn't Especially Good At Maths

Always having been a man who liked to be in control of his own fate, Barbossa's current predicament was not at all to his liking. His future and also that of his crews was uncertain at best. They could pretend that their path was clear, and watching his crew descend upon on the quiet little port in the dead of night, he could almost believe it, but he knew that Lucrezia had been right. Every one of them had spent their share more than just a little recklessly in each of their different ports of call. Every coin had probably changed hands dozens of time by now and could be anywhere on the planet. Locating all 882 coins would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of well, the planet. Frustration and a healthy dose of regret (a feeling he had never had before) were driving him wild. He had only just managed to overcome the numb disbelief and accept what was happening but now he almost wished he could revert back to the blissful denial, for anything would be preferable to the near painfully overwhelming helplessness – not to mention the fear of the unknown. They all had some idea of what they had inflicted upon themselves, but what lay beyond that? Would the curse truly last forever? Would it get worse over time? How on earth were they expected to _cope_? Could hollow mockery of life drive them mad?

On top of that was the bitterness that stemmed from another little annoyance that Lucrezia had pointed out to him. Jack Sparrow, be he dead or alive, had been saved from a dreadful curse through their actions. He may have been marooned but he had been spared the horror of what lay in store for the poor wretches. It had taken a moment for the information to sink in and when it had he wished she hadn't mentioned it and told her so. She had sighed and said she wished she hadn't realized it in the first place.

He'd accepted that life wasn't fair years ago, but for once in a very long time he hoped that luck would smile on him. Like all ancient curses and spells, this particular one seemed to have a number of conditions and attachments. Surely there had to be some rule or loophole that would assuage the very worst and most impossible aspects of the curse? Or perhaps he was just being too hopeful… Maybe he would have a stroke of good fortune in this matter, but if he didn't that was fine too. Hope or not, he wasn't just going to sit back and allow his fate to be the master of him. As long as he lived and breathed, _he _was the master of his fate, and he wasn't afraid to show it.

Standing at the rails with Jack perched languidly on his shoulder, Barbossa watched the boats approach the shore, barely visible under the thick cover of black clouds and poorly lighted with only a few lamps to guide them. There had been a unanimous decision to raid their last port of call in search of the medallions as soon as everyone had come to terms with the curse, a decision that had been put into action almost immediately. Every man, save himself, had left the ship and were being led by Lucrezia in an attack on the unsuspecting dwelling in the dead of night. The longboats cut through the dark waves as silently as spectres, the dim lamps swinging from the bow of each boat gave their shapes the fiery glow of demons. The vessels had barely settled on the sand before their occupants were springing onto land, some already unsheathing swords and cocking pistols. He recognized Lucrezia, who was stepping out in front of the mob of pirates and addressing them with orders he could not hear, at such a distance from the mildly arrogant air of authority she could exude even from hundreds of yards away and the distinctly feminine way she moved. He may have just been imaging things, but he could swear that he could distinguish the ethereal glow of her eyes in the pitch black.

Those two fools, Pintel and Ragetti, were hanging back as the rest of the crew ascended the beach, moving towards the docks and the edge of the town. He rolled his eyes (temporarily being free to do so without risking comment from Lucrezia) and wished he could be on the beach with them so he could give them both a thrashing and a flea in their ears over their cowardliness. He'd have to beat that out of the two so called pirates if they were going to get anywhere in their conquest for the medallions.

Their collective footsteps were just about audible now that they had left the soft, pliable white sand and were marching across cobbled streets. He began to lose sight of them as they moved further into the heart of the port, hidden amongst the huddled clusters of wooden structures and stone edifices. A sharp whistle (presumably from Lu) broke the relative peace of the invading party. The attack began with a wild battle cry from the men and dozens of shots, smashing of windows and pyres made of flammable buildings (or flammable anything, for that matter). It took the work of only a few seconds for the ghost town to descend into chaos. The populace were wide awake, disoriented and frightened as the crew stormed their town. Barbossa watched, a tad impatiently, as they poured haphazardly through the place, assaulting as many townspeople as they could spare the time to in between pillaging their old haunts in the hope of finding some of their gold still in the possession of tavern owners and whores they had had dealings with not so long ago. After what seemed like a lifetime of gunfire, blazing furnaces and terrified screams, the thick clouds dispersed for a moment, shedding weak, pale moonlight on the hellish brightness of the flames.

A moment was all it took. Even amidst the crowded streets he could make out each member of his crew, each menacing figure as they were replaced by the even more horrific undead monsters. Skeletons clad in decaying rags and strips of rotting flesh, moving assemblages of bone brandishing pistols, knives and cutlasses appeared before his eyes. He didn't have to look down to know he looked no different – so he didn't, not glancing down once despite his simian companions more violent reaction of shrieking in alarm and leaping from his shoulder into the rigging. He kept his eyes fixed on the scene in front of him even as the clouds shrouded the moon once more and erased the creatures as if their appearance had been nothing more than a trick of the light or his imagination running away from him. He might have believed that, if it hadn't been for the panic that took hold of his men. The curse had even more in store for them than they had initially thought. They didn't simply _feel _like the living dead, they _were _the living dead. Their attack stopped, each one confused and entirely unsure of how to proceed after their revelation. Lucrezia's almost impossibly loud voice echoed through the night as she yelled, with the help of a few Italian expletives to the men to continue their plundering. In times of great distress people find it easiest to follow the instruction of another to spare themselves burdens and fear, so the men immediately went back to their previous escapades. _If she had her own ship, _he mused, _she'd make a good captain._

After settling into their comfortable routine of debauchery and delinquency, the crew were much calmer and seemed to have just managed to accept the new development in the curse, so it was a rather rowdy and self-satisfied mob that met him back on the deck of the _Black Pearl_, as triumphant as they would have been after a raid for pleasure rather than for their more morbid intentions. Forming as orderly a queue as pirates are capable of, the men took turns in handing over their spoils to Lucrezia for her to present to the Captain (no matter how many times he thought of the word _Captain _in conjuncture with himself he never became any less smug) and stow safely in his cabin.

"How many did you get?" Pintel hissed to his nephew.

"How many did you get?" Ragetti asked.

"I asked first."

"I asked last."

"How is that helping your argument?"

"How many did you get?"

"I'm not telling ya."

"Fine, I only got 2, alright?"

"What's the matter with you? I got 6."

"It ain't my fault! I went into that pub, ya know, the _Crow & Swan, _and there were like, 8 massive guys in there. With knives and stuff. It were only me, so I spent most of my time killing them, so I would have got more… but, ya know…"

"8 massive blokes attacked you?"

"Yeah."

"You lying little pisspot, I saw what happened. That hole is owned by some crabby old crone and her grandson. You spent most of your night fending off a decrepit old bat with a frying pan and a 3-year-old who wouldn't let go of ya legs."

"Look, could you just gimme a couple of the coins? Otherwise I'll look really bad."

Grumbling under his breath, Pintel reluctantly allowed Ragetti to pocket a few of the medallions just before he had to relinquish his share to Lu. She had seen the whole exchange (and even if she hadn't she could have worked out that someone as incompetent as Ragetti would have sought aid from the slightly more competent Pintel), as had Barbossa, but, being in a kinder mood than usual, decided not to point it out and humiliate him in front of everyone. After Pintel and Ragetti was Bill Turner, who was the final man in the line. Barbossa noted that he was staring at the gnarled, weather-beaten planks beneath his feet ad shifting his weight from one foot to another. Lucrezia cleared her throat to make him draw his eyes away from the seemingly fascinating wood and look her in the eye.

"Well, Mr Turner, how many medallions did you wrest from the grasp of innocent townsfolk this night?"

Turner mumbled something that Barbossa, standing on the other side of the deck and watching the proceedings, couldn't quite catch.

"You must have collected at least one?" She insisted with obvious disbelief and irritation in her voice. Turner muttered a denial which drew a frown from his First Mate. Shaking her head, she crossed the deck to Barbossa, opening a leather pouch on her belt and adding her own contribution of coins to the collection.

"Well?" Barbossa demanded. She beamed and extended her palms, gold medallions pooled within them like water.

"54, sir."

"It's certainly a good start."

"Yes; but I doubt we'll be able to keep this pace up."

"Yer right." He sighed.

"Chin up, Captain." She replied with unusual chirpiness and enthusiasm.

"Do I have any credible reason for keeping me 'chin up', Lu?"

"Because I'm telling you to, that's why."

"Well if ye put it like that…"

"Anyway, first deposit of medallions – 882 minus 54 is…"

"828."

"I was getting there! It is hardly my fault if I have not perfected my sums."

"Never said it was, Lu."

"I do have more important business to attend to in life you know, Hector."

"As do we all."

"Exactly."

Taking the coins from her, he quickly counted them as he slipped them into his pocket, frowning softly.

"What is it?"

"I'm afraid ye miscounted."

"… How many are there than?" her anger was flaring up again.

"67."

"Well I am sorry, but I'm just not educated in mathematics, or fluent in all the languages under the sun like you, and I'm not a Captain of a ship (and never have been!) and-"

To stop her self-deprecating tirade he clamped his hand over her mouth and said:

"Yer mistake is nothing for yer to be getting worked up over. After all, we now only need recover 815 rather than 828, and surely that is something for ye to be immensely pleased about, my dear? Chin up."

She scowled at him and he removed his hand.

"Let us withdraw Lucrezia, and leave the men to… whatever revels they are planning."

"Which is none, so it seems."

Normally the crew would have celebrated by drinking the rest of the night away, but the alcohol would have been practically tasteless and would have taunted them with the promise of sweet intoxication that they couldn't quite reach. As such, there wasn't much for them to do. They couldn't even _sleep _to pass the time, since the curse seemed to have deprived them of that luxury also. It was a silent procession that was solemnly going below decks as Barbossa and his First Mate entered the Captain's cabin. Barbossa was brought back to his previous line of thought; what sort of toll would this curse have on them? Was there any coming back from this, or would they all be irrevocably changed?

"Hector, you can either stand there all night brooding," Lucrezia said, settling into her normal seat while he lingered in the doorway, "or you can go forth and fetch that devilish monkey of yours and we can try celebrating tonight's success."

"Any particular means of 'celebrating' our success in mind?" he responded suggestively.

"Really, Hector! For a start, it was technically _my _success. You were simply watching from the wings. You are both losing your touch and getting on a bit, sir. Now then, Captain, bask in my glory and amuse me a while with your wordy antics and silly performing pet; I deserve a treat, don't you agree?"

He laughed – sometimes when he was with her he could almost forget that there were such things as Aztec gold and ancient hexes upon them.

"Lucrezia?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't ever change."


	10. Bill Turner Earns His Nickname

**_Author's Note: _I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean_**

**EDIT: Portions of this chapter have been rewritten**

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: Bill Turner Earns His Nickname

Bill Turner was nervous. Not merely nervous, but rather frightened and he had good reason to be. For one thing, he was not a skilled liar. Any attempt at deception on his part usually fell apart very quickly, due to inconsistencies in the lie or his obvious unease and crushing guilt. This lie in particular was bigger and more damaging than any other he'd ever told, so the poor sailor's anxiety was increased tenfold, especially when combined with the sickening knowledge that there was no way of escaping the lie. He'd explored every possibility and realized, to his horror, that he had forced himself into a corner. There was no other alternative than living with the lie, acting as if nothing were amiss. He had to suffer the torture of knowing that at any time anyone could notice the change in his demeanour and the agony of indecision – regret or acceptance? One day he could at least console himself with the thought that he had done the right thing, the decent, honourable thing, while the next he would be consumed by the overwhelming desire to turn back time and set right the mess he'd created, for himself and (even though they were not yet aware of it and hopefully never would be) the crew.

Oh God, if the crew did find out what he'd done… even as an immortal being who could feel no pain the idea of the repercussions his actions could have sent a shudder down his spine. Pirates are for the most part ruthless beings. If they feel they have been wronged they will almost always exact a bloody (and generally disproportionate) revenge. They'd consider his deed to be a crime beyond punishment; he could hardly dispute that, since he would probably feel the same if he was not the perpetrator. But he was, and there was no escaping that fact. To be honest, he was still shocked that he had been able to perform the act in the first place…

As far as pirates went, Bill was not the most effective in terms of killing, maiming, raping stealing, or any other pirate pastime. He was simply too honourable to be anything more than half-hearted in such things. Like a goodly number of men, his reason for going on the account was an inability to make a decent living through other means. It had only been through necessity that he'd learnt swordsmanship and the other tricks of the trade, none of which he was especially accomplished at. Mediocre, but good enough to get by, he had in fact been able to reclaim a piece of the treasure, so he had indeed been lying when he confessed to Lucrezia that he hadn't been able to collect any medallions. But he had only managed to pillage the one, and it had been a rather close call at that.

The thought had come to him not long before the raid on the helpless port. It had been a ghost of a whisper in the deepest recesses of his mind, but as soon as it had been conjured into existence he hadn't been able to shake it. _These bastards deserved to be cursed and _remain_ cursed after what they'd done to his Captain – collect the treasure, just as he'd been commanded to, but send it away to hinder their efforts_. The thought had grown rapidly, filling his brain and pressing into the walls of his skull, a glowing garish thing with an accompanying orchestra booming in his ears that could not be ignored no matter how much he tried to block it from his mind. Even if he hadn't wanted to, the idea had taken him over so completely that he would have carried out his plan against his own will, little more than a mindless puppet in a scheme of his own devising.

The medallion had sat in his pocket, searing its heathen markings into his flesh and weighing him down as if there were a cannonball rather than a coin concealed in his clothing as he confessed – lied – to Lucrezia that he had not been able to recover a single coin. He hadn't dared to look into those dreadful eyes, which he feared in that moment more than he'd ever feared anything – they were almost as accusingly scorching as the gold in his pocket. She'd searched his face which he deliberately kept downturned the whole time, certain she would sense his betrayal in an instant if they made eye contact. He'd almost collapsed with relief as she simply shook her head in disappointment and left to speak with Barbossa.

Rather like his initial plotting, the next stage had struck him with the same sudden blow of inspiration; if he were going to dispose of the coin he now carried, where better to send it than to his young son, William, safely situated in merry old England, practically half a world away? The lad would also have a gift to remind him of his absent father… Before he could have second thoughts he had sent the medallion to England with a strange, righteous thrill in knowing that he was thwarting his dastardly crewmates. This was what they got for disobeying the code and killing a fine man; a self-serving, confusing, insane sort of man, but one with a good heart underneath it all. Of course, this thrill soon faded and was replaced by the aforementioned nervousness. The nervousness turned to fear and the fear turned to panic one afternoon when the inevitable happened. Poor Bill Turner couldn't sustain the lie forever – he cracked.

Lucrezia had been asking him about his relationship to Jack Sparrow. It had seemed innocent enough and he'd been whisked away by a bittersweet wave of nostalgia before he could put his guard up.

"You must miss him." She'd said sympathetically.

"I do. It wasn't right what was done to him." He'd replied. When analysing the conversation at a later date in his non-life, justifying every word that came out of his mouth in an attempt to feel better about revealing his own deception, he concluded that she had expressed sympathy (perhaps she was a softer, kinder soul than he'd first been led to believe), so his assumption that he could say such things openly in her presence could only be expected.

"It's eat or be eaten in this flawed mortal coil of ours, Mr Turner. What more could you expect and from pirates of all people?"

"Pirates should keep to the code." Very true. Nothing wrong with that statement.

"Did you ever stop and consider that our revered code is perhaps closer to… _guidelines_ than actual rules?" He could tell from the fond, indulgent smirk on her face that she was quoting Barbossa. She adored that man, and although he acknowledged in a vague and subconscious sense that it was a little similar to his loyalty to Jack, it thoroughly sickened him all the same.

"Only the worst kinds of rogues don't abide by the code. If you're going to be a pirate, you might as well do it properly." Sticking to his guns, supporting his argument.

"Quite right," she laughed, "but, code or not, do you genuinely believe that Sparrow was a _good_ captain? He always struck me as the type of man that was too flamboyant and outgoing to step back and take orders but was not strictly the right sort for a position of authority."

"Yes I do think he was a good captain." Answering her question, plain and simple.

"You don't think Hec- Captain Barbossa is an improvement then?"

"No."

"Why not? Do you blame him for our… unfortunate predicament?"

"Don't you?"

"Of course not."

"Why not?"

"This is all Sparrow's fault, obviously. The voyage to the notorious (as in notorious _for being cursed_) Isla de Muerta was his plan, after all."

"But Barbossa took us there."

"Under either gentlemen's command we would have gone to that damnable place, but my point stands. The genesis of the expedition was Sparrow… but your loyalty clouds your judgement. You still blame the Captain, don't you Mr Turner?"

"Whether I think Barbossa is to blame or not is irrelevant. The point is we should never have marooned Jack on that island. In my opinion, we deserve to suffer this curse as punishment." Now _that _had slipped out in the heat of the moment. Besides, he was just reinforcing his own views. If there was one thing he could say about the conversation and the aftermath, at least he had stood up for what he believed.

"_We deserve this_?" she hissed.

"Yes."

"Mr Turner, if you believe this curse to be some sort of judgement for our actions against the former Captain, you… you wouldn't help us to retrieve any of the medallions, would you? You alone failed in our recent endeavour to recover a fraction of the blasted little baubles."

He didn't answer. Those eyes were upon him and he just couldn't. She leant forward, so slowly, inching towards him as if he were a wild animal she might frighten away if she moved too quickly – slow and steady and then he'd be in her grasp…

"Mr Turner, did you lie to me when you said you had no medallions from the raid eight days prior to now?"

"Yes." Although he had guided her onto this path of questioning with his previous impassioned ejaculations, he swore that all of his following answers were not freely given. He was certain that those unearthly eyes did… _something_ to him to make him confess to everything so readily.

"How many did you have?"

"One."

"Do you still have the Aztec gold with you?"

"No."

"What did you do with it, Mr Turner?"

"I sent it away, to my child."

The spell broke as her black brows drew together over her eyes. He'd never seen Lucrezia angry before. She kept her whole body tense, her back completely rigid and ramrod straight while her hands clenched into fists tight enough to display white knuckles, as if to keep the rising pressure in her body rather than have an unseemly outburst. She allowed her face more freedom – her thick lips pursed, her nostrils flared, but as always the eyes were the fascinating facet. They burnt with such intense rage that he could feel groping fingers of flame plucking at his skin. After seeing that look in her mismatched eyes, it came as no surprise that she stalked away, straight to the Captain's cabin to tell Barbossa what she had just learned. He wasn't shocked when she and her Captain had informed the crew of his betrayal. He knew she'd be all too willing to concede when his former friends requested the privilege of beating him to a pulp. He'd guessed that she would be the one to officially decide his fate after the crew roared for his blood and Barbossa leaned in to ask his First Mate what _she _thought should be done with the wretch and hear her whispered reply. As he suspected, her suggestion of sending him to the depths met with the approval of the crew after she'd explained, with a certain degree of glee why it would be a truly horrific thing to do to another human being ("Imagine it! Entwined in the embrace of sand, seaweed and the cold comfort of a cannon to weigh him down, in icy water so black he couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face. His only company would be the fish and his own fractured little mind _forever_.") And when she gave the signal to toss his prone body overboard to sink under the weight of the cannon bound to his bootstrap, he'd already been expecting the sadistic satisfaction written across her face.


	11. A Red Dress

**_Author'_****_s Note: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean_**

**EDIT: Portions of this chapter have been rewritten**

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: There Is a Red Dress

"One, two…"

"Stop pokin' around in it, you're only making it bigger. Not to mention it's downright disgusting, pickin' at it like that…"

"… three, four…"

"It hurts it does!"

"…five, six…"

"No it don't, not with the curse, you moron!"

"…seven, eight…"

"Well, it _would_. 'Sides, it's my feelings what have been hurt. I have emotional scars thanks to you!"

"…nine, ten…"

"Give it a rest, you big pansy."

"…eleven, twelve…"

"Pansy! If we didn't suffer this curse and you had a hole in your shoulder like what I do you'd be wailing like a baby!"

Lucrezia slipped the last couple of coins into her purse, ready to be presented to the Captain and finally looked up at the arguing men standing before her of whom she had been completely oblivious. It seemed that during the night's proceedings, which had involved a bloody shootout in a gambling house, Pintel's less than terrific aim had cast a stray bullet into his nephew's shoulder. As Pintel had said, the curse had meant the wound was no more than a trivial matter at most but Ragetti seemed to be taking the injury as a personal affront, and was now at war with his uncle. Before the dispute could escalate to something as fearsomely unsavoury as childish name calling or girlish slaps, the First Mate loudly cleared her throat and said to her now captive audience:

"Now really, boys, this will no do, it will not do at all. Have you forgotten that you two heartless, ruthless, villainous rogues are of the same flesh and blood?"

"No ma'am." The answer came with some reluctance.

"And what a fabulous duo the two of you make? A pair of cruel, dastardly scoundrels if ever there were any? Had you forgotten that?"

"No ma'am."

"Then surely Master Ragetti, you will forgive your portly uncle from accidently assaulting you and Master Pintel, you'll refrain from practicing a little friendly fire on your nearest and dearest next time?"

"Yes ma'am." She cast her eyes down to give them a degree of privacy while they briefly embraced, all past quarrels thoroughly washed from their minds. She didn't really know why she had bothered to intervene with their little domestic incident; they would never have been able to stay angry at the other for more than half an hour. The pair were as entwined as thunder and lightning, operating on the same (rather limited) wavelength, apart from the rest of the crew. Who else could they share so intimately close a bond with on the ship than their own flesh and blood? But she had done her duty like a good First Mate should and restored peace amongst her crewmates.

"Excellent," she smiled, "Now then, the Captain has ordered you to take these fine trunks into his quarters, so get to it, if you please. You know how he hates to be kept waiting, the old grouch."

* * *

><p>Captain Barbossa liked to think he knew his First Mate rather well. He had known her for months now: planned and executed a vicious mutiny with her, fallen under the ravaging of an ancient curse with her, pillaged, plundered and burnt countless towns and ports with her, murdered countless men with her and led a scurvy band of fellow cursed, plundering, murdering mutineers with her. And yet for some wild and incomprehensible reason, in spite of supposing to have a good grasp of her character, the Captain had got it in his head that she would like – nay, <em>adore<em> – the ill-gotten gains he was planning to present to her.

As soon as the bumbling oafs, Pintel and Ragetti, had carted the collection of trunks into his quarters (not without dropping them at least five times and knocking various objects over at least eight times) he whipped open one of the smallest containers and withdrew a beautiful, costly dress he had helped himself to while his crew had been busy winning back (in an unconventional manner of speaking) the cursed coins they had spent several months previously in a seedy gambling den. The dress was constructed of rich red silk, as deep in hue as fine wine. The front of the skirts was as black as night and more of the smooth, dark satin had been used where the bodice offered a peek of a ladies cleavage. The cuffs were adorned with delicate strips of creamy lace and the entire garment was decorated with copper coloured stitching. Smoothing out the creases, he draped it across Lucrezia's chair and sat in his own designated spot across the wide table. A few minutes later she came through the door, sighing, her black curls jerking (they were much too messy to dance) about her shoulders as she shook her head.

"This is…" she was so hard put to finish her sentence that all she could manage was another sigh. Instead of sitting she poured the contents of her purse onto the table, the coins gleaming brilliantly in the candlelight.

"Something troubling ye, Lu?"

"I fear that this tiresome task of ours is finally wearing down my last nerve, Hector."

"Well, we can't be having that."

"Indeed not."

"As yer Captain," he sat up straight "I'm always here to lend an ear." He said without a trace of anything aside from genuine sympathy.

She picked up one of the medallions and idly flipped it into her palm "We've been chasing these coins across oceans for just over a year now, yet it feels as if we are getting nowhere! I mean, just add all of these blasted medallions together and how many do we still have left to collect? 690, or somewhere in that general region, isn't it?"

"713, Lu."

"_Dannazione!_"

"Chin-"

"No," she sighed once more and shook her head again "Not even a hearty and emotionally distant 'Chin up' can help me now."

"Ah, I see. Ye're in need of a more comprehensive cheering up."

"Indubitably. Now drown my sorrows in your plentiful fountain of wit or empathise with genuine emotions utterly lacking in any subtle or diluted form of sarcasm. Or you could try a combination of the two, which might work best."

"Miserable yet bossy; yer capacity for ambivalence is astounding."

"You've always been better at staying in good spirits than I, and I find that I feel a little better already."

"Ye must still feel at least a little out of sorts to be bestowing such generous compliments on me humble self."

"Oh really?"

"If ye were in yer right mind ye would never dare make any allusions to finer traits in me character on the pretext of protecting me health; that is, if I were to become any more pompous ye might very well strangle me."

"I don't know why you put up with me." She said with a bitter chuckle.

"This melancholy isn't at all like ye Lucrezia."

"I know."

"It breaks me heart to see ye in such a sorry state."

"Your concern is flattering, sir." Her lips twitched at his dramatics.

"I understand it has been a very trying year for ye, my dear and ye've done an admirable job of keeping a brave face on for the sake of the crew thus far." Lucrezia winced slightly. She knew the dear was just trying to make her feel better (and succeeding) but now he really and truly was sugar-coating things. She had become far crabbier than she had been before the curse was put upon her and if anyone would have noticed it, it would have been him. She felt perpetually stressed to the point of bursting, snapped at anyone who so much as looked at her funny and had been claimed by more murderous rages and tearful despairs through the past year than she had through her entire life. It was shameful – she had been a stroppy drama queen, no better than a hormonal adolescent.

Yet through every tantrum he had never complained or reprimanded her. In fact, rather like he was doing now, he would take her away from the multitude for a few quiet moments and calm her riled temper or dry her tears. She blinked, the only physical reaction to this revelation. Had this really been going on for months without her realizing it? She cursed herself for being so unobservant. If it were so, and not merely something she had imagined – an exaggeration of his behaviour for the past year – then he, the first man she had ever considered a friend, meant a lot more to her than she first thought.

"Quite." She said, hiding her true thoughts on his last statement, a statement which was suddenly causing her to feel a great deal happier.

"Do I detect the hint a smile on that pretty face?" She went beyond a smile to a soft laugh and eye rolling at this. He continued:

"I shall now proceed to upstage empathy and wit-"

"But wit is by far your greatest weapon!" she cried in feigned shock "How could you achieve such a monumental feat?"

"With material goods, of course." He nodded to the dress which hadn't been noticed by Lucrezia since she entered the cabin. Her eyes narrowed slowly and she looked very hard at the Captain. As has already been stated, Captain Barbossa had known Lucrezia for months now and should have been able to tell just from that look that the following portion of the conversation would very probably end in tears – his rather than hers.

"Just what is that?"

"Guess."

She folded her arms and sighed. Sensing she wasn't in the mood for-

"I'm not in the mood for childish games, Hector," What do you know, he'd hit the nail on the head. "So please, explain."

"I felt ye deserved a little special treatment – a fine and stunning garment such as this seemed the best way to express me gratitude for yer services."

"May I speak freely, sir?"

"Aye."

"Were you high when you bought this onto the ship?" His jaw tightened and neither of them spoke for a very long and awkward minute.

"I take it the dress does not meet with yer approval then."

"Hector, I do not wear dresses. I have not worn a single piece of feminine attire for as long as I can remember and as captivatingly exquisite as this particular piece is, I am afraid I must refuse your gift. Please don't take it too personally."

It was now his turn to sigh. He rose from his chair and walked round to the other side of the table, stopping behind Lucrezia's empty chair and stroking the shoulder of the poor, rejected garment, as if to sooth it's distress.

"After ye took such a fancy to that gaudy ring on yer digit, I naturally assumed the next stage in yer tastes would be equally extravagant clothing."

"Had you got me a waistcoat, or breeches or a hat (hopefully one a little less overwhelming than yours), I would have been as pleased as the proverbial punch. As it is…"

"This particular piece of finery came straight from the recesses of a gilded wardrobe, from the lavish bedchambers in the heart of a grand mansion of a governor and his wife; a mansion which, (I feel I must stoop to include such a vulgar detail) is not without protection against disreputable ruffians such as meself. I so hope ye do appreciate the risk I took for ye."

"You cannot die, sir, for you are undead. Therefore there was no risk as at all." She pointed out politely.

"Now, I don't think ye truly understand just how splendid ye would look in a dress – how could ye know how ye feel about feminine articles if ye have never before worn any? I selected this garb especially for ye. Trust me when I tell ye this sensual shade of red will make that golden skin of yers _glow_…" She shook her head violently, interrupting before he could become anymore enthusiastic about the prospect of her bedecked in a dress, insisting again that she would never wear it. He sighed dejectedly and said:

"Can't a cursed old seadog like me have one happiness in this world?" Lucrezia arched an eyebrow. Now he was just being plain silly…

"You're right; this would look splendid – on anyone else but me. In fact, I'm sure this would really bring out the blue in Ragetti's beautiful eye…" He scowled deeply so then she quickly added:

"I cannot stress this little fact enough sir, but I _do _appreciate the gesture, I truly and honestly and sincerely (and every other synonym of the word) do. The wonderful gesture has just happened to manifest itself in a rather undesirable fashion. Perhaps we should have it taken below and forgotten to cease any further argument – I'll go and get Masters Pintel and Ragetti shall I?"

Before he could protest she scuttled out the door to fetch them. The beautiful dress would be folded and packed back into the trunk, taken down into the depths of the hold and studiously avoided by both parties until a certain Miss Swann would be cajoled into its silky swathes some nine years later – not that either Barbossa or Lucrezia would know of these events until they happened.

Barbossa couldn't restrain another sigh as he gave the garment a final, parting caress. It was a pity, it really was; Lucrezia would have looked gorgeous in that dress.


	12. There Is Yet Another Passage of Time

**_Author's Note: _I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean_**

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><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: There Is Yet Another Passage of Time

Port Royal, like Tortuga, was a truly unique specimen in the charmingly cerulean Caribbean, an ocean awash with islands of widely varying sizes, from mere sand strips for whom sunrise was a miracle, of being spared from the aquatic enemy on all sides for one more day, to great masses of golden sands and eternal rocks, adorned with lush, thriving rain-forests ecosystems of flora and fauna honed to perfection by evolution and bursting with such untameable vitality that it was a wonder they didn't continue to grow beyond the beaches into the sea.

Port Royal had its own unique breed of vitality. It was an elegant and refined sort of vitality, so painstakingly implemented by the upright relations of the islands simian inhabitants (humans, in all their comparatively hairless glory), in particular, the more financially endowed fraction of this population, so as to give the impression that this vitality was not vitality at all, but a much more genteel, barely breathing (corsets, you know – they do wonders for a ladies figure) form of life that only stirs its breath to remark politely on trivial subjects, using the oft-repeated opinions that are held unanimously by all cultured members of British society, as opposed to daring (quite vulgarly) to take a deep lungful of that jungle air and bellow an individual insight.

One idea British society had, as a whole, agreed upon was that if a great enough number of British citizens inhabited a place; it was, for all intents and purposes, Britain, an illusion born of continued, futile efforts to beat back the forests slithering up around their ankles and make way for expansions to their cluster of little streets, conveniently situated at the docks, should the populace lose the battle, should Port Royal's occupation (a word applied as loosely as is possible) of the island, and the good, civilized British people were forced to make a hasty retreat back across the Atlantic. Port Royal was perching lightly, restlessly on the island's thick skin, liable to take flight at the slightest stir from the primitive beast beneath.

Elizabeth Swann could be considered to be perching restlessly in Port Royal, in the grand manor house in her father's possession, plucked straight from the British countryside and placed in the midst of the Caribbean rain-forest but in a manner far removed from the way in which the rest of British society perched. She was not a skittish sparrow, but a different species entirely (a swan, if you will), hiding her true feathers from society, and even from herself, at present – at present (though not for any great duration of time) the only forms in which her wild spirit had truly manifested itself were in a few social misdemeanours, such as speaking when not spoken to, or to someone of a lower class, or of her own, deviant opinion on a matter seen in an entirely different light by society (for example, considering marriage a more frightening fate that being threatened by an infamous pirate). But although the worst she could do at this point in time was to chirp a few wrong notes, a series of circumstances would soon break her gilded little cage, and give her opportunity to finally fly, far and fast.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth idly stroked the medallion round her slender neck, as she had done many times in her life, when she had had occasion to bring it forth from its hiding place, the rare and treasured moments she had alone. She would slip the odd little trinket (<em>so crude and primitive, so unnerving, yet fascinating all the same <em>she would think) round her neck, often for only a sparse handful of minutes, and she would watch her soft, white hands in the mirror, performing the same habitual, little strokes they always did. The pads of her fingertips had had skimmed so often across every minute detail the necklace had to offer her curious hands, traced every groove and indent in the cold, smooth metal that her fingers understood the pattern in a way her eyes never could.

She had not a single thought about the medallion that day, her hands simply occupying themselves with the old habit while her mind strayed to paths that seemed (incorrectly) more important at this juncture.

The Commodore was a fine man, of that there was no shred of doubt in her mind. He was one of the kindest, bravest souls she knew, and had in him a goodness that she had always admired. More importantly, he had quite a grand social standing (for a sailor), the sort that made him that estimable creature so much more than a man, a _gentleman_, and came with sufficient power, influence and money to make him a more than desirable match for any young debutante. Yes, he would be a splendid match for any girl… but if Elizabeth had cared to listen (_which I most decidedly do _not), a little voice at the back of her mind added to this sentence, _any girl but me_.  
>And then there was young Mr Turner (<em>Will<em>), a man, a mere man, of such laughably feeble means and status in comparison to elevated beings like herself and the Commodore, who she should most certainly not be dwelling on for a single second, especially not in dwellings connected to marriage, and a future life together, the kind she would be sharing with the Commodore, or some gentleman like him… _Elizabeth Turner_…

Before that unfortunate train of thought could take her further down tracks she should not tread, her reverie was broken, by the most uncommon sounds of commotion that were pervading the air from the direction of the docks and surrounding town. All thoughts of marriage and men now safely dropped, Elizabeth, through a rushing tumult of fear and excitement, ran out onto her balcony, which boasted an enchanting view of the beautiful and exotic Port Royal vista.

Dense, white fog had been rolling languidly in from the sea since early evening, thickening with every passing hour. It had risen, like the ghost of the tide, lapping its way further and further up the hill, until it was now slipping its fingers between the bars on the gates guarding Elizabeth's house, wrapping a soft yet choking, inescapable vice around the thin metal gates, as if preparing to rip them from their hinges – which it could, without any exertion on its part.

The fog, for all its sinister splendour, failed spectacularly in masking the chaos that was following in its wake. In a split second, a building would be standing among the uniform rows of its fellows, one of many spectators (animate and inanimate) gawping foolishly at the invaders in the bay and the next it would explode in a sweeping black firework, bricks, glass and wooden beams scattering as if they'd never been joined in the first place. Colossal fires had broken out in at least half a dozen locations throughout the town and any building that had been spared the flames (increasingly few, as they continued to consume) _and_ the cannon fire (not an easy feat for something that has neither the self-preservation instinct, much less the ability to run out of the way) was being stripped and looted from inside out, gutted like an animal to be feasted on by savage, mangy predators. Figures were darting about through the mist like wraiths, though who was the attacker and who was the attacked was impossible to say.

Elizabeth looked beyond the town, squinting out at the wide sea. Sitting in the mouth of the harbour, little more than a blurred, black smear on the rippling black waves, was a ship, only illuminated by short bursts of brightness, as blinding and fleeting as lightning, as another of its seemingly countless cannons spat another projectile at the shore.  
><em>That ship… those sails… they're black!<br>_

* * *

><p><em>The final coin…<em>  
>When the crew of the <em>Black Pearl <em>had sensed the final coin, they had all felt it at once. As the number of medallions to be reclaimed had gradually shrunk, a connection to the objects, the physical embodiment of their mystical affliction had grown, as if one nourished the other. A mere inkling, the subconscious pestering the conscious had grown to an undeniable instinct and finally to a physical bond as powerful and reliable as a heartbeat – though as the crew's hearts hadn't been beating for years, this is perhaps not the best simile.

The final coin had always been the unachievable dream that they all aspired to, a paradise and an end to all their troubles, as cherished to them as heaven, but also as distant and intangible. The final coin… to have regained 881 was perfectly acceptable, nay, inevitable to their minds, but 882? That was too much. They had been enduring this nightmare for a decade now, so long that if the curse had not forbidden them from doing so, they might have successfully acclimatized themselves to its limitations by now. As it was, they were almost content to know that one more coin could transform them back into whole men. Like a puzzle that is missing a single piece, it takes little imagination to picture the unsurpassed beauty the completed masterpiece would bask the viewer in.

But hope is more powerful than imagination, so when they felt that tell-tale ripple, a shock-wave that doused every nerve in an ice that barely chilled them; they wasted no time in marveling at the miraculous occurrence, but instead went to work following the trail faster and harder than they ever had in their lives.

Lucrezia had an ambivalent attitude towards hope at the best of times, and the two conflicting feelings reached their utmost extremes as she stood at the rails of the rapidly filling deck to receive the medallion, hope continuing to grow, that infernal flame her coldness still failed to extinguish, as she watched the returning parties climbing up to the deck from the longboats, unloading all manner of treasure as they came. All but the one that really mattered, it would seem.

Hope could bring a man more joy than he ever thought possible – whatever fanciful dreams had been conjured by hope paled in comparison to the very real bliss the fruition of a man's goals brought. But hope could bring just as much despair into a man's heart as it could joy; in fact more, Lucrezia believed. Hope would not die along with a man's dreams. It would fester on, half dead, half rotting, a perversion of its former beauty, an angel turned into a devil, whispering sweet lies that it still believes are truths. It torments the mind and soul until absolute proof of failure finally finishes it off, and then it leaves its wretched victims with nothing to console them. Never had Lucrezia been torn between such potential for joy and for despair. She had never had anything so great as this to risk putting into hope's hands. And of course hope fought a much better fight than rationale or common sense ever had, telling her that the boats would not be returning unless the last coin had been found… if Lucrezia had been so inclined, she might have prayed.

There had yet to be any sign of the medallion, but another intriguing piece of treasure had cropped up among the expected loot – a flustered young lady in her night attire, brought by Pintel and Ragetti, who jumped when the first thing she was faced with on deck was Lucrezia's scrutinizing stare. She was a lovely thing, tall and slender, with soft, milky skin that had obviously been carefully shielded from the sun to obtain the coveted colour. Her brown eyes looked into Lucrezia's for a moment, then frantically shot away, darting manically around the deck, to look at anything else at all. They only stopped again when they spotted Barbossa, in shadow at the top of the stairs, Jack squatting on his shoulder.

"What," Lucrezia turned to Pintel, narrowing her eyes "is _this _in aid of?"

"I didn't know we was taking on captives," The bo'sun glowered at the pair, now shrinking a little under the pressure from dual authority figures, and turned to Lucrezia "ma'am?"

"We're not."

"She's invoked the right of parlay with Captain Barbossa." Pintel said defensively, as if he didn't want the girl's view of him as a bloodthirsty, ruthless pirate to be diminished by his being openly berated by his superiors. The girl, however, had all but forgotten had captors, shaking off their hands and striding towards Lucrezia, expressing a great deal more bravado than Lucrezia believed her to possess.

"I'm here to negotiate-" Lucrezia was willing to listen, even if only to laugh at her for thinking she, a naïve little slip of a girl, could negotiate with pirates, but the bo'sun was having none of this negotiating malarkey, opting for a violent dismissal of her proposal expressed through a hard slap to the face.

"You'll speak when spoken to!"

"And ye'll not lay a hand," Barbossa's smooth, powerful voice had as strong a grip as his hand on the bo'sun's offending appendage "on those under the protection of parlay."

"Aye sir." He growled, tearing his arm, with a good deal of effort from Barbossa's grip. Barbossa turned, with his most charming smile, to their affronted guest.

"Apologies miss."

"Captain Barbossa," she began, with only the slightest of quivers in her voice "I am here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal."

"There are lot of long words in there, Miss; we're naught but humble pirates," Barbossa said with a self-depreciating chuckle, "What is it that ye want?"

"I want you to leave and never come back."

"I'm disinclined to acquiesce yer request."

The girl's stare remained defiant, her jaw clenched and her head held high, but her silence betrayed her ignorance.

"That would mean _no_, my dear." Lucrezia purred condescendingly.

"Very well," she spat icily, marching to the rails, as she snapped the thin, golden chain from around her neck "I'll drop it." The crew shuffled forward on the deck to catch a glimpse of the coin, as if still being dragged by its gravitational pull. The medallion swung from her clenched fist, the lights of cannon fire on shore giving the skull a blood red grin and eyes of fire.

"Me holds are bursting with swag," Barbossa said after a brief, tense hesitation, which was luckily masked by the girl's own uneasiness "That bit of shine matters to us? Why?"

"It's what you've been searching for… I recognize this ship; I saw it eight years ago on the crossing from England."

"I fail to see the connection." Lucrezia said, carefully lacing a flat tone on the brink of boredom into her voice.

"Fine. Well, I suppose if it is worthless there's no point in me keeping it." The crew lunged forward as one it slipped a few inches that felt like miles – and stopped, as the girl's face broke out into a triumphant, knowing smile. But Barbossa was not one to be outdone so easily, and her smile faded as he sauntered forward, with a soft chuckle.

"Ye have a name Missy?"

"Elizabeth Turner. I'm a maid in the governor's household."

"Miss _Turner_…" Her smooth brow furrowed in confusion as the crew burst into a hushed symphony of excited murmurs, grins on every face. Lucrezia allowed herself a smirk. She wasn't sure whether this could be considered a coincidence or an inevitability; but she supposed fate and curses would run these little rings around you, dragging you unwillingly through years of toil and suffering, only to relinquish the solution in a neat little package at the last moment. Though in this instance, it was only after the irony of making the blood of the pure soul they murdered be said solution to further torment them. _Curses are just funny like that, I suppose_ she thought.

"And how does a maid come to own such a trinket as that? Family heirloom, perhaps?"

"I didn't steal it if that's what you mean." She replied carefully, totally oblivious to the loaded nature of the question.

"Very well, ye hand it over, and we'll put yer town to our rudder and ne'er return."

In the pause that followed, Lucrezia half-thought Miss Turner might put that scrap of good sense of hers to use, and bargain her way out of the loophole Barbossa had expertly herded her into, but as expected, she had not the sly, shrewd class of intelligence needed to save her from such predicaments, so easily avoided if one just paid half as much attention to detail as Barbossa did.

"The fine print is always more deadly than the 'important' terms of an agreement," he once said to her "a full frontal assault can only do so much damage. It's those trivial little details that have the stealth to catch him unprotected; to slip between the bones and pierce him straight through the heart."

She dropped the medallion into his waiting palm, as he knew she would, and handed the coin to Jack, a protection as secure as any locked chest.

"Our bargain?" Barbossa turned his back on her, nodding to the Bo'sun to prepare for departure and gesturing for Lucrezia to follow him up to the helm. Miss Turner scuttled after them with shrill shrieks of protest. _What a disagreeable little chit… _

"You have to take me to shore! According to the Code of the Order of the Brethren-"

"Firstly," he rounded on her "Yer return to shore was not of our negotiations nor our agreement so I must do nothing. Secondly, ye must be a pirate for the pirate's code to apply, which ye're not, and thirdly… Lucrezia, I believe ye're rather partial to this particular crumb of wisdom of mine?"

"The code is more like _guidelines _than actual rules," She stated with a wolfish grin "and what's more, you really should concern yourself so with 'Code of this' of 'Order of that'. Aside from perhaps our most venerable Captain here, no one understands what the full scope of the Code entails. But more importantly, they don't care. You can't trust us pirates to keep to our own code, and if that doesn't strike fear into your pure little heart, nothing will."

"I think what Lucrezia is trying to say is 'Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_, Miss Turner'."


	13. Elizabeth Believes in Ghost Stories

**_Author's Note:_ I do not own_ Pirates of the Caribbean_**

* * *

><p><span>We Belong To the Sea<span>

In Which: Elizabeth's Belief in Ghost Stories is Revived

If Barbossa had cared to contemplate his captive, he would have found her to be rather like her dearly departed father. Elizabeth Turner was a sweet and well-mannered young woman, who seemed to be as foolishly headstrong as her father, but in a fashion that seemed to indicate more of a defiant spirit, as opposed to her father's witless cowardliness. She was also in possession of a handsome countenance and figure that she had quite clearly not inherited from her father's side of the family. But Barbossa did not even spare the time required for these fleeting observations. Miss Turner was an object in his eyes, a means to a very long awaited end, and as such, required no consideration beyond keeping her alive and in their custody, neither of which should prove to be any great challenge.

Miss Turner had settled uneasily into the chair he had pulled out for her (ever putting the 'gentleman' into 'gentleman of fortune') and inched it as far away as she could from his own chair as she could hope to without blatant intent to cause offence. He had had the stroke of genius to bedeck her in Lucrezia's dress – he had dubbed it this despite her never once conceding to wear the garment – though it hung a little loosely in a number of places on her thin frame, and was perhaps not, in his opinion, quite as befitting the traditional beauty of the young English rose as the swarthy complexion of a lady like Lucrezia.

She had shifted and shuffled awkwardly in her seat, only occasionally casting him wary glances from beneath from long eyelashes to see if he was still gazing at her so intently (which he always was), for the most part choosing to keep her eyes fixed on her readily laden plate. The choicest portions had been taken from the feast and artfully arranged on her plate; seasoned slices of venison, a plump and glistening leg of chicken, potatoes mashed to be as fluffy and light on the tongue as clouds and soaked in butter, a modest mound of fresh caviar – and a plate of apples had been set before her place at the table.

After some minutes of gentle cajoling from Barbossa, her quivering hands had taken up the knife and fork and cut what was barely a mouthful of food from the leg of chicken. With such decorous manners as to be almost comical at the dining table of a ruthless pirate (and her captor, no less) she raised the food to her lips and masticated slowly, in dainty, birdlike bites. He watched the muscles of her jaw moving with a desperate longing, filled with envy as she swallowed, though he thought it quite a pity that she was probably too absorbed in maintaining her quiet, calm façade to truly appreciate the luxurious flavours of the delicacies before her. What was even more of a pity was that she could taste at all, could take for granted whatever passed her lips, if she so chose, while the only pleasure he could achieve was to watch her and dedicate an strain every mental faculty he possessed to try and imagine the _taste_…

"There's no need to stand on ceremony, nor call to impress anyone. Ye must be hungry." He commented.

Her eyes regarded him warily for a moment but were invariably drawn back to her full plate. This time he did not need to persuade her any further; her hands dropped the fine, silver cutlery with a clatter that was something of an affront to their value and picked up the leg of chicken, her delicate, pearly white teeth sinking savagely into the soft flesh as if she had not seen food in weeks, let alone any so fine.

Keeping his eyes fixed on her as she reached for a roll of bread, he filled her goblet (golden and elaborately decorated – another ornament of excess on the table) from the decanter at his elbow.

"Try the wine." He purred. She greedily snatched it from his hand and swilled it down with her mouthful of bread and chicken. Trying to imagine that combination of flavours now swirling down her tongue and pale throat, he picked up an apple, the only thing that he had put on his plate.

"And the apples, one of those next." His voice cracked, an almost whining, pleading undertone of desperation that made her look up sharply, fear creeping into her expression. Her hand went limp and dropped the roll as she gasped,

"It's poisoned." To which he only laughed.

"There would be no sense to be killing ye Miss Turner."

"Then release me! You have your trinket, I'm of no further value to you."

He slowly reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the medallion, holding it up so it glowed in the candlelight.

"Ye don't know what this is, do ye?"

He already knew, from her failed attempts at bargaining earlier in the night, that she had not been informed of nature of her father's gift. It had proved to be of tremendous value to him, but now he felt an unprecedented spark of fury that this wide eyed little girl, so innocent and naïve could have lived her life unburdened by his troubles, that were so fatefully intertwined with her life by her father's actions (_the_ _sins of the father shall be visited upon the sons _he thought), and not suffer the fear of knowing that while pirates, he and his crew were also creatures far more frightening, and the fear of knowing that her lineage meant her life's blood was what was needed to lift the heathen curse – and her blood would be spilled, if it was the last thing he did.

"It's a pirate medallion." She replied flippantly.

"This is Aztec gold… one of 882 identical pieces they delivered in a stone chest to Cortés himself. Blood money paid to stem the slaughter he wreaked upon them with his armies. But the greed of Cortés was insatiable. So the heathen gods placed upon the gold a terrible curse… any mortal that removes but a single piece from that stone chest shall be punished for eternity."

For all that she had seemed captivated by the story, eyes riveted first on his own and then on the gleaming skull in his hand, she scoffed at this last segment of the tale.

"I hardly believe in ghost stories anymore, Captain Barbossa."

"Aye. That's exactly what I thought when we were first told the tale – buried on an island of the dead what cannot be found 'cept for those who know where t'is. Find it, we did. There be the chest; inside be the gold. And we took 'em all. We spent and traded 'em, we frittered them away on food and drink and pleasurable company. The more we gave 'em away, the more we came to realize… the drink would not satisfy. Food turned to ash in our mouths. And all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust… we are cursed men, Miss Turner. We were compelled by greed, but now… we are consumed by it."

Jack, as if he had also been following the story, began to shriek and leap frantically up and down on his perch until his master went to soothe him.

"There is one way we can end our curse…" he handed Jack the coin, who bit it as if checking its authenticity, and ushered the monkey onto his shoulder as he returned to his captive audience, "All the scattered pieces of the Aztec gold must be restored and the blood repaid," Jack leapt from his shoulder and scampered out the door, onto the deck "Thanks to ye, we have the final piece."

"And the blood to be repaid?"

"That's why there's no sense to be killing ye… _yet_." He felt a thrill of perverse pleasure as her brown eyes widened in terror. He lifted one of the lush green fruits he so adored from the untouched plate.

"Apple?"

Her face suddenly contorted into an expression of anger and she violently batted the apple from his hand and sprang to her feet, unsheathing her silver knife from the napkin in her lap. She raised her arm, but though she was the one brandishing the weapon, she made no move to attack, choosing instead to make a bid for freedom. While this was a more daring move than he had predicted from such a gracious young lady, she had no experience of combat, armed or otherwise and this was utterly unplanned, leaving her to rely on her fight or flight instincts. It was easy to outmanoeuvre the girl, but in the heat of the moment, in a frantic attempt to reach the door, she stabbed the knife through his heart. She started to take slow steps back towards the door, panting from exertion and fear, as he looked down nonchalantly at the blade protruding from his chest cavity, and yanked it out in a smooth, swift movement. The knife was covered in his bright blood all the way up to the hilt, and was dripping onto the Persian carpet.

"I'm curious – after killing me, what is it ye planning on doing next?"

She stumbled out onto the deck and he returned to the forgotten dining table, cleaning the knife on her napkin and laying it down next to its pronged counterpart. He grabbed the decanter of wine and left the cabin; instilling a little fear into the impetuous wench might benefit her immensely, if the crew frightened her to death (as her screams were implying they were), her usefulness would expire with her and the past decade would have all been for naught. Just as he reached the door, the distressed Miss Turner flung herself back through it.

"Look," He spun her back to face the deck "the moonlight shows us for what we really are. We are not among the living, and so we cannot die, but neither are we dead," He turned her to face him, the whining and pleading tone returning, trying to impress on her a torture she would never understand, "I feel _nothing_. Not the wind on my face, nor the spray of the sea, nor the warmth of a woman's flesh… Ye'd best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner. Ye're in one."

He uncorked the decanter with his teeth and downed the wine in one tilt of his head. He reflected as he heard it splashing like rapids across his ribs that it might have been more prudent to have saved this one for a short while longer, since the removal of the curse was now imminent, though it was a little late for such considerations now. He contented himself with flinging the bottle after Miss Turner's rapidly retreating figure, and slamming the cabin doors behind her. He faced his men and laughed, manically, while they dutifully followed suit, albeit somewhat more woodenly.

"What are ye looking at?" he suddenly barked "Back to work."

After a moment's awkward shuffling, every man was in his appropriate post, leaving a satisfied Captain to leave them to their work and go confer with his First Mate. Lucrezia, in all her rotting skeletal glory was at the helm after having been briefly ousted from the position by Miss Turner's minor brawl with one of the deckhand's – she'd laughed, but Miss Turner had seemed to interpret this as sinister laugh meant to intimidate, rather than as an expression of genuine mirth.

Barbossa, wine still dripping from his bones and shirt swept up the stairs and stood by her, gazing out at the black, rolling waves ahead of them.

"Good evening, Captain. Would you care for an update on our progress?"

"Good evening, Lucrezia, and yes, if ye would be so kind."

"We should be making berth early in the day after tomorrow, if we continue at this speed; which I assume we will be?"

"Of course."

"Very good, sir."

"Things have been escalating so quickly today, I've not yet had the chance to talk to ye, leastways not properly."

"Quite true, though I confess, I think lifting the curse takes precedent over that."

"Ye said yeself we have another day at least left to it regardless."

"Another day…" Lucrezia shook her head with a wistful sigh "What a strange perspective we now have – ten years to one day, and already the day seems an age too long, for my liking. Although I fear it will take me another ten years simply to adjust myself to the way things were before."

"Speaking of before, think ye'll go back to doing… whatever it was ye did before joining the _Pearl_?"

"I've only ever been of one profession – the account suits me, and I suit it."

"I know ye've been a pirate for quite some time now, Lu, but is there really no greater specificity? No plans or overarching goals ye've been chasing since ye girlhood?"

"None. You're the one who's prone to scheming. I wonder what _your _overarching goals are, beyond lifting the curse."

"Well, I suppose not everyone is taken by the grand gesture. Any little pleasure ye wish to fulfil?" Lucrezia shrugged, but Barbossa persisted.

"No nostalgic memories to recapture? Perhaps there's even a family in some corner of the world, still burning on in yer cold heart."

"Do you really want to know?" she blurted out in an impassioned tone "Where I've been and where I wish to go? My secrets and my hopes… would you like me to tell you?"

"Of course."

"Well, I'm afraid I've nothing to share. I'm perfectly happy as I am, right here, right now." Her voice returned to its normal cool control.

"There must something from yonder years worth telling ye old friend, especially as I've been near saint-like in me patience for the last ten years, indulging yer in yer secretive ways. Ye can have no future without having a past."

"Hector, is it really that important? For those last ten years, not knowing has been no detriment to your life. You know me the way I am now, or is that not enough for you?"

He glanced over at her. Her eyes remained fixed on their course, even now, but they were glinting with anger. Speaking with Lucrezia on topics such as this could be likened to drawing blood from a stone, and this seemed to be the most she wished to say on the matter – ever. It seemed that she wanted to draw a line under the discussion once and for all, and there was little more he could do than oblige her.

Besides, it dawned on him that there was indeed some truth in her statement. Whatever Lucrezia may have been once (but considering her personality, he'd wager it was something not far from what she was now) was irrelevant now. From what he had surmised from their few conversations reminiscing on the past, she had wandered from place to place, as a true pirate should, without a single bond or connection tying her to a place, or even a ship. The two of them had been together on this ship for just over ten years now, never spending a day apart – why, that was a greater intimacy than husbands and wives shared, and heaven knew they certainly enjoyed each other's company and understood each other a great deal better than most wretches and their encumbering spouses. So, in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn't that important after all.

"It is." He finally replied.

"Exactly… and if there is ever anything of even the smallest fraction of importance to me that I wish to share, you'll be the first to hear it, alright?"

"Aye."

"And with that promise, I will divulge that my only plan, if it can be called such, is to stay here. The _Pearl _is a fine ship indeed, especially as it the crowning jewel of our well-earned plunder. The crew respect me (a privilege I have seldom been granted before), and I am First Mate under a Captain for whom I have the greatest fondness and admiration. What on earth would motivate me to leave?"

"I'm glad to hear it, Lu."

"Though, pray tell, sir, do _you _have any of your own plans to implement after we finally rid ourselves of the curse?"

"Do ye even have to ask?"

"Do you have anything particular in mind, sir?" Despite the fact that Lucrezia's lips, in their current state, had all but rotted from her face, Barbossa could still detect the devious smirk on them.

"A few thoughts on the backburner, m'dear, but nothing solid yet."

"Be sure to keep me informed."

The pair lapsed into a contented, comfortable silence. Barbossa, who was already at the edges of bliss, as he could feel the weight of the curse on his mind beginning to ease, ever so slowly as they inched, league by league to the Isla de Muerta, felt an added joy in knowing his future still held a constant. Life beyond the curse which had consumed them for so long was a blank slate, seemingly stretching on forever without respite – but Lucrezia would be there, and that was something to be thankful for.

"Goodness gracious me!" she suddenly said, "There was actually something I had been intending to ask, for our post-curse jaunts."

"Oh?"

For the first time in the conversation, Lucrezia tore her eyes from the far horizon and looked at Barbossa.

"You still need to take me to the Caspian Sea, as you promised, to sample some of that delectable caviar you've raved about."


	14. Unforeseeable Complications Arise

We Belong To the Sea

In Which: Several Unforeseeable Complications Arise

"Miss Turner."

The girl started slightly at the unexpected address, and turned away from the window that she had been gazing out of in such an awed fashion.

"Come with me." Lucrezia commanded. Miss Turner stood slowly, her hands leisurely smoothing the creases in the front of the dress is order to appear more presentable, putting on an air that she were about to greet a visitor who was calling upon her for afternoon tea, rather than having to face the less pleasing prospect reality offered, a band of savage, filthy pirates, all baying for her blood. With a low, mocking bow and a sweep of her arm (which seemed to throw Miss Turner a little off balance), Lucrezia let the girl sidle cautiously past her and shut the doors behind them

Lucrezia could no longer it within herself to be awed by the sight of the fabled Isla de Muerta. It was an imposing, foreboding sight to fresh eyes, as she knew from her own experience, but the years had dulled its impact, like the waning pain of an aging wound. Perhaps it could have continued to frighten her had it come to pose the unexpected once more, could give her something to fear aside from what was already inside her, but it remained as it had been since she had first had the misfortune to lay eyes on its rocks, unchanged and unchangeable.

No matter how many times they had returned in any given year, each time there had always been a peculiar expectation in the shadows of her mind, to see the crew of the _Black Pearl _as they were, the longboats crawling out of the passage into the cave, so weighted down with treasure that every other wave poured a trickle of water over their sides. But the crew would whoop and cheer just as boisterously as they had done then, unaware that the curse, a growing, ravaging cancer, was already upon them.

Seeing such a sight, however, would be to turn back time, a phenomenon she once would have scoffed it, but now believed to be wholly within the laws of nature, if a man could just find the means – but the curse would never allow such a luxury for its victims. No, they would have to settle for alleviating its power, in the here and now.

Miss Turner most graciously allowed her slender wrists to be bound by Twigg and her golden-brown hair to be swept back from her bare shoulders as Barbossa clipped the medallion about her neck as the pirates clustered round her, watching the coin slip into the valley between her breasts, stopping barely an inch above the shelter of her dress. The first stage of ceremony satisfactorily executed, the pirates disbanded to gather their individual shares of treasure looted from Port Royal, and met at the rails (Ragetti impatiently chanting all the way) to begin the descent into the longboats.

Lucrezia settled onto the bench of the longboat as if it were as shaped and suited to her contours as her own hammock, stretching her legs out so they brushed the hem of the girl's dress. Lucrezia did not condescend to look at the prisoner, whose eyes drifted fluidly over the jagged walls of the passage they entered, but without seeming to notice a single feature of her surroundings.

Lucrezia's eyes were drawn to the medallion, which glowed brighter as the passage grew darker, as the coins did, as if they emanated a slice of hellfire even at the darkest hour of night or in the deepest depths of the sea bed. She thought in passing that should Miss Turner notice her staring, she would probably assume that the worst and most depraved sort of intent would bring a pirate's eyes to that region of her pure, vulnerable body, even if said pirate was blatantly female in gender. But a pirate was still a pirate, so there was no knowing just what kind of atrocities against God could bring her pleasure.

Upon landing the pirates were either loaded like packhorses with sacks and chests or took up a torch to guide the way through the tunnels. Barbossa held out his hand to help Lucrezia step onto the shore, and she imagined she could already feel the warm flush of life robbed from his by the curse restored to his rough, firm skin. He released her with a roguish smile and her squeeze of her hand, and then gestured to Miss Turner, who regarded the pair with mild disgust, "Bring her."

The pirates swarmed through the tunnels like ants, guided by their leader, twisting and weaving their way to the heart of the nest. Lucrezia followed in their wake, a firm grip on the cord around Miss Turner's wrists, not as a precaution against her escape, but to keep the girl from falling over, as her slippered feet stumbled over the slightest bump in the terrain and skidded in every puddle. _It could be worse,_ Lucrezia sighed to herself _she could have bare feet, which would be accompanied by wailing verbal complaints at best, and demands to be carried at worst._

As they entered the main cavern, Lucrezia heard a soft gasp come whispering out of her captive, so she stopped at the shore of the tiny underground lake formed by the invading tides beyond the cave walls.

"Feast your eyes, Miss Turner," she said with no small degree of pride in her voice "we are the magpies of the sea, and these are our most prized possessions… formerly _other_ people's most prized possessions."

Like the island itself, this was a sight the splendour of which could really only be truly appreciated on first sighting. In fact, it was rather pitiful to Lucrezia's eyes. Ten years had been spent pillaging and plundering, so a continual supply of loot had been pouring into this cave, and yet their spoils were only a fraction of the treasure hoarded here by their predecessor, Cortés. She could remember, almost down to each individual coin, how the cavern had appeared before their generous contributions, and comparing it to its modern appearance disappointed her every time.

Miss Turner's eyes darted from corner to corner, her expression one of amazement at the riches on every side, and even piled into nooks and crannies above their head, but her features also bore a distinct overtone of horror at the sheer scale of her captors' crimes. Her gaze came to rest on the great stone chest, the main focal feature of the place, its presence blotting out the wealth amassed about it like offerings to the heathen gods who cursed it, and Miss Turner's face paled, her expression morphing into one of terror; Lucrezia could certainly empathize with that feeling, at least.

She tightened her grip on the rope once more and wended their way through the trail left between the piles to the outcropping that was the throne of the chest. Barbossa was stood by the chest, drumming his sharp fingernails on the thick lid as he waited for his crew to finish hoarding their fresh instalment of treasure and move on to the main event.

"Captain," Lucrezia said once they'd ascended the rock, releasing the rope and gripping Miss Turner's upper arm, securing a small wince from her "any preference for placement?"

"There." He replied, stilling his drumming fingers to point at a spot behind the chest, before resuming at a faster rate.

"And me?"

"Ye should stay up here too."

"Certainly, sir."

One by one the pirates had come to roost around the chest, eyes fixed on the girl, each one embodying the still, predatory patience of a vulture before a kill. Once every man had joined the thong, all eyes moved as one to Barbossa, as he stepped away from the chest and began to speak. Like a fan to flames, Lucrezia could feel the ember of excitement that had been glowing in her for days rise with the sound of his voice.

"Gentlemen, the time has come! Our salvation is nigh! Our torment is near at end!" The pirates cheered at the end of every statement, their cries getting louder and louder.

"For ten years we've been tested and tried, and each man jack of ye here has proved his mettle a hundred times over," a strategically well placed pause, for another passionate cheer "**and a hundred times again!**"

"Suffered I 'ave!" Ragetti wailed to the sound of the responding cheer.

"Punished we were," he began to stalk round to the front of the chest "The lot of us – disproportionate to our crimes! Here it is!" Miss Turner yelped and shuffled back as he kicked the lid from the chest while Lucrezia let it land before her feet without even glancing down at the impact.

"The cursed treasure of Cortés himself… and every last piece that went astray we have returned," he lifted a few of the medallions up in his palm for the pirates to see, then let them pour through his fingers like water,

"Save for _this_!" he pointed accusingly at the coin on Miss Turner's décolletage, inciting a furious roar from the crew.

"881 we found, but despaired of ever finding the last… and who among us has paid the blood sacrifice owed to the heathen gods?"

"**US**!"

"And whose blood must yet be paid?!"

"**HERS!**" There was such rage, such murderous intent in this cry that Lucrezia couldn't help but think that had anyone of lesser character and charm been attempting to rally these monsters, they would not have been able to stop them from launching themselves at the girl and tearing her limb from limb before she even had a chance to scream.

Barbossa gestured for her to bring the shrinking girl forward, so Lucrezia grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, like she would a dog and pushed her closer till her legs were being ground into the stone lip of the chest and holding her tense form still, a lamb ready for slaughter.

"Do ye know the first thing I'm going to do after the curse is lifted?" he laughed darkly along with the crew, but his smile faded as he turned to Lucrezia and purred "Eat a whole bushel of apples."

Lucrezia grinned and forced Miss Turner to lean forward over the chest, the medallion swinging wildly over the open chest and the girl's neck craning under her palm as she looked out with frantic, frenzied eyes at the crowd that had now begun to chant as Barbossa drew out a dagger.

"Begun by blood, by blood undone!" He snatched the medallion from her neck and Lucrezia drew her upright as he grabbed her left hand, pressed the coin into the clammy palm and sliced it open with a quick, precise movement.

"That's it?" Miss Turner squeaked.

"Waste not." Barbossa grinned, encasing her hand in his own, twisting it so the palm faced downwards and prising her fingers open that the bloody coin could fall into the chest. The cavern fell deathly silent, and Lucrezia and Barbossa released the girl, forgetting her as soon as they lost contact. Lucrezia, like many of the others, let her eyes fall shut, trying to divert all her concentration into _feeling_. Any second now, she should be filled with the rush of pumping blood, be able to feel the thick, damp air of the cave slithering down her throat and into her lungs. The caverns were cold, she distinctly remembered that from her first visit. How dearly she missed feeling cold…

One second dragged into another, then in minutes, until finally everyone raised their heads, and exchanged very confused looks.

"Did it work?" one of the men, Koehler voiced their universal concern.

"I don't feel no different." Ragetti piped up.

"How do we tell?" Pintel asked.

Barbossa, not a patient man even at the best of times, rolled his eyes, drew his pistol from his belt and shot Pintel through the chest before anyone could stop him. After a tense second Koehler said, rather redundantly, "You're not dead."

"No," Pintel laughed nervously, but it died in his throat as he pointed at Barbossa and exclaimed "he shot me!"

"It didn't work." Ragetti whimpered.

"The curse is still upon us!" Twigg roared.

Barbossa examined the useless blood on his blade, and then spun to face the girl, grabbing her tightly by the arms.

"You, maid! Ye father, what was his name? Was yer father William Turner?!"

"No." she hissed in satisfaction.

"Where's his child?!" he shoved her away and snatched up the stained medallion "The child that sailed from England eight years ago, the child in whose vein's runs the blood of William Turner? **Where?!**"

The girl retained her smug expression in the face of Barbossa's fury, right up to the moment when he backhanded it from her face, releasing the coin in the process, sending her flying off her feet and rolling down the rock's steep incline.

"You two," the bo'sun growled at Pintel and Ragetti, "you brought us the wrong person!"

"I'm surprised we believed these fools to have brought us the _right_ person." Lucrezia said bitterly, and the crew jeered condemningly at the pair.

"No! She had the medallion, she's the proper age!" Pintel babbled.

"She said her name was Turner, you 'eard her…" Ragetti added and the pirates, even in their rising rage, could not dispute that defence "I think she lied to us!"

"You brought us here for _nothing_!" Twigg cried, redirecting the accusations to Barbossa.

"I won't take questioning and no second guesses, not from the likes of you, Master Twigg." He shot back.

"This could hardly be considered a _democracy, _you know," Lucrezia snarled "I would say your opinions mean nothing, but that would be to let you believe you may dare to have opinions on choices which you all severely lack the liability to control. I daresay you ought to remember that, before you venture to criticise one of your superiors again."

"But why shouldn't we?" Koehler demanded "It's you two always making the decisions; decisions that have only les us from bad, to worse."

"It was _your _idea to send Bootstrap to the depths!" Another of the pirates cut in, pointing at Lucrezia. The cheering of the men sounded far less pleasing to her ears, when she was the recipient of its anger.

"And it's you two who brought us here in the first place!" the bo'sun drew his sword and stepped onto the base of the outcropping, an action that caused all other hand's to fly to weapons and begin to approach the rock.

"If any coward here dares challenge us, let him speak!" despite their overwhelming majority, even now, Barbossa had the authority to make them hesitate and draw back.

"I say we cut her throat, and spill all her blood," Koehler declared, "just in case."

"No, I don't think we should," Lucrezia hurried on before the furious protests grew so loud as to make her inaudible "the little vixen has quite clearly lied to us, but it must be considered that she had a reason too. She must have had reason to believe giving the name Turner would be of significant value to us to save her life, so to say she knows Mr Turner's _true _next of kin would not be an unreasonable conclusion, no?" The pirates grudgingly grumbled their assent "Therefore, we should force the name out of her – I'm certain you gentlemen will find no difficulty, not to mention great pleasure in doing so," the crew chuckled malevolently and she and Barbossa smiled along with them "locate the person we need…"

"And slit _both_ of mangy their throats." Barbossa finished. The men roared more enthusiastically than they had done all day, but as soon as the din died down, Barbossa heard Jack's desperate shrieks from the other side of the cave, and noticed the creature was pointing at the entrance. He glanced down at the space where Elizabeth's body had fallen and finally noticed that she, and more importantly, the medallion, had vanished.

"The medallion! She's taken it! Get after her, ye feckless pack of ingrates!"

As the men scattered in all directions, Lucrezia hissed, "This is not going according to plan… this is not going according to plan at all."

"Hush, Lu, it's all in hand now."

"We just had a rather startlingly close brush with a _mutiny_, sir."

"So as long as we can find that bleeding wench and get her to talk, I don't care. They're only needed for as long as it takes to break the curse, something there is as eager for as you and I. We've had a setback, but we're still close. There should be no more unforeseeable complications from here on in."

"Sir! Ma'am!" Ragetti came sprinting back into the cave, "We got no oars! And Sparrow's out 'ere, 'cos 'e's not dead and 'e's invoked parlay!" Lucrezia glared at Barbossa.

"You just _had _to say that, didn't you?"


End file.
